Thinking About "Identity"

Last night while James was sleeping and I was trying to install the Amazon app that would let me install another Amazon app (I know!) so I could watch a video on my phone, I thought, "I'd love to be able to finish a full conversation with that man." Which led me on to visions of going out somewhere alone and actually, you know, talking. And THAT led me to thinking about a few things that parents and specifically moms are told very often on several fronts, and while I get that the people who say these things are well-meaning, I think it actually puts *more* pressure on families, and I don't think they're actually necessary.

What are they?

1) One thing I hear all of the time is that moms, new moms especially, need to be careful not to "lose our identity." In other words, we can't put all of our eggs in this "motherhood" basket or else we become tedious to our spouses and to those around us. Maybe we'll even end up resenting our children and realizing when they're gone that we don't know who we are.

Well, here's the deal: When you become a mom, that changes your identity. Literally, the person you were when you went into labor is gone. You become a new person with that first kid: You become a mom. You weren't before. There's nothing you can do to change that. Your identity is different. It just is.

That doesn't mean the change is a bad thing, though. I mean, let's get real: our identity goes through changes with many seasons of our lives. The person I used to be would slide down the space between the escalators that went downstairs to the Boston Store at Central Mall in Fort Smith, Arkansas, on my first date with someone because I reasoned that if the guy acted embarrassed or like he didn't know me, he probably wasn't the person for me. It was my tradition. It was a thing. It's not now. Does that mean I'm not as fun or spunky as I used to be? No. I think it means I'm more mature, and I figured out better ways of vetting potential mates (no comments from the peanut gallery, readers; I picked well this time!).

Understand this: I hate hate HATE those "mothering is a 24-hour job with no breaks and we should get paid $14M a year" martyr woe-is-me crapfests that people claiming to value motherhood throw about. And I'm not saying that being a mother is more important than not being a mother. What I'm saying is that when you become a mother (however that happens: by birth, adoption, default, whatever), you just are a mother. It IS your identity. It is your normal. Why would you want to be so careful to preserve an older version of you? Why not continue to evolve?

What if the season in which you painted for hours at a time and sold those paintings to art lovers has passed? Does that make you less valuable? Does it means you've not taken care of yourself? Does it mean you've become boring? I hope not. Because, especially at first, it's very difficult to undertake any artistic endeavors when you have a child.

It'd be like asking a person treading water in the middle of the ocean after a shipwreck, "Yeah, I mean, I know you're dog-paddling, but what else do you do? You know, before the ship sank, what were your passions?"

Um, did I just compare parenting to a shipwreck? That's not hugely flattering, is it?

I think my point is that there are certainly days when being a mom feels like putting out fires, bailing water, or just trying to keep your breathe holes above the surface. When someone points out, "Remember how you used to love baking those braided challah loaves?" it just feels like an impossible task, and makes the parent struggling to get through the hours until bed time feel like they're failing.

I'm here to tell you: You're not. Whatever your day looks like, whether you have any time for reading or combing your hair or planning your next grocery trip or writing the great American novel or not, you're doing fine. You're doing well. You're not boring. You're not a sad, domesticated version of the old you. You're the new you. This is the new you, and it's an adventure, isn't it?

2) And its partner; You have to take time for yourself. If you don't take care of yourself, you can't take care of others.

What does "take care of yourself" look like? Because I hear things about taking twenty minutes to be alone with your thoughts, or going out for a girls' lunch without the kids, or getting your hair done... And, honestly, sometimes, it's just not possible. Sometimes, sitting here in the dark while my child sleeps (because he still can't stay asleep for more than an hour when I'm not around), clicking at my keyboard, wishing I had a headboard because my back is killing me, and putting some of my thoughts out of my head is the closest thing to "me" time I get - and I have to be willing to drop it at any point because the child might wake up and need help getting back to sleep. Sometimes, I get less than that.

That is my reality, it's been my reality for almost a year, I'm not insane, my family is not insane, we've all eaten and loved each other and fought and pitched in and been a pretty normal family during this whole season of my not being able to "refill my cup" so to speak.

We moms are told that we have to make ourselves a priority, but, seriously, you're not going to prioritize yourself over your infant (or toddler or special needs child, etc.) who has a genuine need. If you have a "need" (for a little peace and quiet, to eat a sandwich, for an hour "off") at the same time your child has a genuine need (scared, hungry, hurt), you're not going to say, "Well, I'm sorry you're hungry but mommy is going to watch Monk and pretend you don't exist or else I'll be stressed and then you won't be happy because I'm not happy and I can't serve you well if I'm on 'e'." (I know; Monk's not on TV anymore; it's been a while since I've watched.)

Giving a mom one more thing she *must* do to be a "good mom" (even if it's just painting her nails for her own sake!) is just piling more stuff on top of someone who might feel buried as it is.

3) Couples should have "date nights" at least once a week to connect on an emotional level. It doesn't have to be a night out! You can wait until the kids are asleep and just spend an hour or two relating in a way that doesn't revolve around being parents. You need to keep that spark alive.

I'm pretty sure our great-great grandparents would either laugh or roll their eyes at the above idea. Again, I get where Focus on the Family and literally every other Christian family ministry and secular family support programs are coming from. It seems to make sense, right? Gotta keep that romance going.

But do we?

My husband was telling me about an article he'd read about how it's only been in the last 100 years or so that people have had the luxury of marrying for love rather than out of necessity. He said that lead him down a mental rabbit trail of "what does that do for divorce rates?" Now, yes, there are definitely things like women's rights and other issues at play, but I think we in the United States, especially, are way too romantic about what we think a "good" marriage should look like.

I think a good marriage works. In a good marriage, the couple is happy and they work together and they want to be married to each other. Do couples in tribal families take time away from their offspring to "connect on an emotional level"? Or are they too busy about the work of living their lives to be bothered by nonsense?

I was listening to a radio broadcast the other day in which a couple said that when they had their date nights, it was off-limits to talk about the kids. Why? Are they in denial during their date? They pretend they're not parents? Why have kids if you need to "forget" about them for a few hours each week? And especially because this was a Christian broadcast, where in the Bible are we told to interact with our spouse in a way that eliminates our entire family? (Literally the only time "forgetting" a kid is talked about, I believe, is the Psalm - I think - where it says that a nursing mom is more likely to forget her baby than God is to forget his children... and that's said for effect.)

This is almost a punishment to the primary caregiver, whether that's the mom or the dad. "Okay, we're going to go out together, but you are not allowed to talk about the thing that you do 18 hours a day." Would we tell the other spouse not to talk about his/her work?

Why, to be a good couple, do we have to deny the very thing that our good coupling has produced?

To clarify, I'm also not a "child-focused" family person. Like, our babies aren't running our household. There are times it feels that way, but ultimately, we're the grown-ups and it's our responsibility to make wise choices. We don't do anything and everything the kids want. So I'm not talking about vowing never to leave the kids alone or never having conversations about other things. I just think it's idiotic to ban *any* subject when you're out on a date with someone you love.

In closing, I'm sorry if this sounds jaded or bitter or that I'm "ovaryacting." (Thanks, Joy!) It's just... Right now, I'm mostly a mom. That's what I do. I don't have time to write - magazine articles, radio dramas, church skits, short films, commercials, novels. I have a high-needs kid who cries if I stand up too long - in the kitchen, especially. So there's no fancy baking or cake-decorating like I used to do. If my husband were to lose interest in me because I'm so immersed in my maternity, that would suck. Especially since this here kiddo was his idea!

Sometimes, we have to settle into the seasons of our lives gracefully instead of fighting them.

I can count on one hand the times I've left Mal in his 11+ months: 1) At church (maximum of 40 minutes; average 10-15 minutes), 2) Napping on the couch while my sister "watched" him and James and I went next door to Taco Cabana for dinner, 3) At the Nuthaus with my husband while I picked up Daphne's birthday cake, 4) At the Nuthaus with my parents and husband while I refilled a popcorn tin, and 5) At Vogelfutter with my parents and husband while I got my hair trimmed.

By the time Daphne was Mal's age, she had spent countless hours at my parents' house while her dad and I went to meetings and dinners and on dates. She spent 8 hours every day of two weeks with my mom while we trained for Boys Town. She hung out with multiple "babysitters" in the form of other house parents ("teaching couples") while we attended further BT training. She spent 6 hours in the church nursery on weekends when I sang. She had even spent the night with my parents while I went to California to catch a Rockapella concert. I had the luxury of more "me" time and more date time when Daphne was a baby, and guess what? I was still stressed out as a mom most of the time, and, spoiler alert, her dad and I are divorced.

I kind of dig my identity. I don't feel like the fact that I've had a 4-year break from perfecting my fondant-rolling technique is tragic, especially since that's been because I've had amazing adventures like living in an RV with my awesome daughter for two and a half years, then living in downtown Austin in a space without enough cabinet room for rolling, and now trying to raise an awesome human being when I'm super ancient and it's really really hard and challenging and, man, I'm going to be prouder of him later than I would be of fondant. Unless it was the really perfectly-thin, perfectly-uniform covering that always alluded me. No, no. I think I'll still be prouder of him.

These are all seasons. I've had seasons of theater, and then not, and then again, and then not, and then AGAIN. I've written, and I've been too tired or sad or busy to write. I've not biked, then I've been obsessed with biking, and now I just bike to the mailbox and back on occasion. Whatever season you're in, can we all just agree that it's enough, and that we don't "need" to do more to make it more enriching or well-rounded or whatever? Please?