Haven't written here in a long time.
And that is certainly not because life with a 2 year old is dull or predictable or uninspiring.
Quite the contrary in fact. It is so full of living, breathing, breathstopping moments that it becomes a kaleidoscope of feeling well nigh impossible to render on paper at regular intervals.
Today however I felt compelled to pause and put paper to pen - or finger to keyboard if you please - and talk about the one thing preoccupying so many working mothers, all the time.
Guilt.
During a recent visit to Pune, a friend of mine, who has a 1 year old, invited me for coffee. As soon as we sat down across each other in the cute colourful cafe, her first words were: 'does the guilt ever go away?'
I will repeat here, what I said to her. Immediately. 'No'. I said. Emphatically. 'It never does'.
So breathe. And learn to live with it. And to negotiate life around it. It is years of socialisation and gene pool mutation probably, but the guilt of leaving your child in another's care and going away, simple doesn't go away! Even though rationally you know that the kind of quality time you are spending with your child is probably more enriching than the old world bathe, feed, put to bed routine. Even though you know that the 2 hours of playtime in the evening and the half hour of cuddle and fun in the morning is bonding you beautifully with your little one, even though you know that because you have a nanny to take care of the boring stuff, you are able to present your most cheerful most energetic most playful self to your toddler, even though you see the child's face light up every time you enter the room...
Even though you see your baby run into your arms and hug you and kiss you and altogether let you know how precious and how central you are, you STILL FEEL GUILTY.
Paradoxically, the child's unquestioned devotion makes you guiltier. Because you probably belong to the same generation as me, where most moms were stay at home moms. Where your mother spent a lot of time taking primary care of you (read food, clothing, cleaning) and she never suffered any guilt if she couldn't make time for play or piggy back rides or crayoning sessions.
Today you keep asking yourself: have I abdicated mom responsibilities and taken to being almost a sibling? Why am I not doing all the stuff that my mom did and why am I doing all the silly things that moms don't normally do?
My daughter thinks that pillow fights and tickle sessions, play with words, and building blocks is par for the course with mommy. Cuddling up and sleeping arm in arm is our biggest joy. Splashing about and turning bath time into water wars is regular. The nanny is boring. Mom is fun. The nanny is taken for granted, time with mom is precious.
That itself makes one guilty again. Hey, mom was supposed to be the one you could take for granted! In a bizarre twist to envy you suddenly want to be the boring stable presence in the child's life rather than the exotic, perfume twirling, heels clad, now-you-see-me-now-you-don't avataar of yourself you have turned into inside the fantasy film in your head.
And you don't stop to reason. Or to realise that this image of yourself is truly pure fantasy. You don't notice how it is still only you that the child will sleep tucked in next to at night. You don't appreciate yourself enough when it is only you who can understand what the toddler needs in her broken half speech, when everybody else has given up.
You don't notice when it is only you who can pacify the child when she's upset. And you certainly don't pat yourself on the back when the child comes running to you with shiny eyes as she learns a new word or phrase or rhyme in play school. Because you are too caught up with patting her - and that is the way it should be of course.
But stop for a second. To applaud yourself. You are doing a very good job. You are redefining motherhood even as you redefine womanhood. Maybe you abdicated some other gender stereotypes with greater ease: maybe it was a traditional wardrobe that you gave up for unisex wear. Maybe it was a role in the kitchen that you happily delegated to the help - or, as in my case, my husband! Maybe it was a personality type when you cashed in on your assertive aggressive side and said 'balls' to the notion that women accept and adjust...
Whatever it was, is or may have been, you have negotiated and forged many new identities. This is but another glorious one in that journey.
So enjoy it. You don't cook like your mother, you don't dress like your mother, you don't talk like your mother, you don't pray like your mother. You don't need to mother like your mother.
And that is certainly not because life with a 2 year old is dull or predictable or uninspiring.
Quite the contrary in fact. It is so full of living, breathing, breathstopping moments that it becomes a kaleidoscope of feeling well nigh impossible to render on paper at regular intervals.
Today however I felt compelled to pause and put paper to pen - or finger to keyboard if you please - and talk about the one thing preoccupying so many working mothers, all the time.
Guilt.
During a recent visit to Pune, a friend of mine, who has a 1 year old, invited me for coffee. As soon as we sat down across each other in the cute colourful cafe, her first words were: 'does the guilt ever go away?'
I will repeat here, what I said to her. Immediately. 'No'. I said. Emphatically. 'It never does'.
So breathe. And learn to live with it. And to negotiate life around it. It is years of socialisation and gene pool mutation probably, but the guilt of leaving your child in another's care and going away, simple doesn't go away! Even though rationally you know that the kind of quality time you are spending with your child is probably more enriching than the old world bathe, feed, put to bed routine. Even though you know that the 2 hours of playtime in the evening and the half hour of cuddle and fun in the morning is bonding you beautifully with your little one, even though you know that because you have a nanny to take care of the boring stuff, you are able to present your most cheerful most energetic most playful self to your toddler, even though you see the child's face light up every time you enter the room...
Even though you see your baby run into your arms and hug you and kiss you and altogether let you know how precious and how central you are, you STILL FEEL GUILTY.
Paradoxically, the child's unquestioned devotion makes you guiltier. Because you probably belong to the same generation as me, where most moms were stay at home moms. Where your mother spent a lot of time taking primary care of you (read food, clothing, cleaning) and she never suffered any guilt if she couldn't make time for play or piggy back rides or crayoning sessions.
Today you keep asking yourself: have I abdicated mom responsibilities and taken to being almost a sibling? Why am I not doing all the stuff that my mom did and why am I doing all the silly things that moms don't normally do?
My daughter thinks that pillow fights and tickle sessions, play with words, and building blocks is par for the course with mommy. Cuddling up and sleeping arm in arm is our biggest joy. Splashing about and turning bath time into water wars is regular. The nanny is boring. Mom is fun. The nanny is taken for granted, time with mom is precious.
That itself makes one guilty again. Hey, mom was supposed to be the one you could take for granted! In a bizarre twist to envy you suddenly want to be the boring stable presence in the child's life rather than the exotic, perfume twirling, heels clad, now-you-see-me-now-you-don't avataar of yourself you have turned into inside the fantasy film in your head.
And you don't stop to reason. Or to realise that this image of yourself is truly pure fantasy. You don't notice how it is still only you that the child will sleep tucked in next to at night. You don't appreciate yourself enough when it is only you who can understand what the toddler needs in her broken half speech, when everybody else has given up.
You don't notice when it is only you who can pacify the child when she's upset. And you certainly don't pat yourself on the back when the child comes running to you with shiny eyes as she learns a new word or phrase or rhyme in play school. Because you are too caught up with patting her - and that is the way it should be of course.
But stop for a second. To applaud yourself. You are doing a very good job. You are redefining motherhood even as you redefine womanhood. Maybe you abdicated some other gender stereotypes with greater ease: maybe it was a traditional wardrobe that you gave up for unisex wear. Maybe it was a role in the kitchen that you happily delegated to the help - or, as in my case, my husband! Maybe it was a personality type when you cashed in on your assertive aggressive side and said 'balls' to the notion that women accept and adjust...
Whatever it was, is or may have been, you have negotiated and forged many new identities. This is but another glorious one in that journey.
So enjoy it. You don't cook like your mother, you don't dress like your mother, you don't talk like your mother, you don't pray like your mother. You don't need to mother like your mother.
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