Thoughts on motherhood

Becoming a mother gave me an enormous boost of confidence, as if being entrusted with the life of an entire human person was the best promotion I could have ever asked for. And it was.

Hello and a warm welcome to my new subscribers. This newsletter bills itself as ‘personal politics for the politically homeless,’ and I mean that quite literally as I sometimes write about strictly personal experiences that are culturally or even universally relevant to us as human beings. This week is one of those essays. Do stick around for non-personal commentary. Next week I will be starting a new feature, a Q & A with a reader, which I hope I will make into a regular thing. 

Very early this morning, my husband and I dropped my son off at Dublin airport to catch a flight to Germany, where he will spend six weeks living with a German family and going to a German school. As will a group of his classmates, all of whom are his friends. He’s almost 15 years old. Earlier this week I feared I would turn into a puddle at the check-in desk, but when the moment came, I was too happy watching him with his friends, the whole group seemingly excited to part company with their parents and venture out into the world. There were some nerves, to be sure. But overall, they seemed like a happy, confident, and calm bunch. With the lightest of hugs and some waves, off the six of them went (three boys, three girls), with barely a look back. 

There are no words to describe the joy of watching your child grow into a decent, interesting young person. I know this is an oft-stated sentiment, to the point of it being a cliché. But it’s a cliché because it’s probably the most true thing in the world. It’s an even truer joy when you know that child is surrounded with other decent, interesting young people.

Being a mother was really my only goal when I was growing up. I was often told I was smart and had parents who encouraged me to excel in school, go to a good university and follow a professional path to career success. And I was always into that idea, but always in a rather vague way. What I thought about most was being a mom. And it’s been, by far, the best and most interesting and most satisfying job I’ve ever had. 

Now that my son has entered an entirely new phase, where I see my role receding quite a bit into the background, I feel like it’s time to take stock of what his childhood gave me, and what I hope I gave him.

I hope, if I have done anything right, it’s that I have always been myself around my son. Of all the people I have been close to in my life, I think it’s Daniel who gets the realest, most unmasked, version of me. That’s not to say that I have included him in my adult life in age inappropriate ways, though like a lot of kids he’s witnessed his share of adult drama. Rather, it’s that I felt the most accepted, the most at ease, the most safe, and the most natural, when in his company. So I hope he has learned how to accept himself, live naturally at ease in his own skin, and be drawn to others who do the same. I hope I modelled that for him, along with all the bad habits I have modelled for him, like eating dinner on the couch in front of the TV, and having a messy bedroom. 

I never have understood and I never will understand parents who go to great lengths not to get angry in front of, or with, their kids. Now, by anger I mean a robust annoyance and not a terrifying rage. I don’t think parents should be emotionally incontinent in front of their children. But neither should they hide their emotions, or repress them, or twist them into manipulative behaviour. How can a child grow up to be an emotionally competent person if their mother never let her true feelings show? To me this always seemed almost as bad as only showing negative emotion. Assuming you are not an abusive, drug addled, or sociopathic person, I think the best thing you can do for your kid is just be yourself. Also, a healthy, occasional, anger shows your child where your boundaries are. Can you really expect a child to know that crucial information, if it’s couched in euphemism and hidden behind a fake smile? 

Children are experts at picking up on fakes. They can just sense it. Which brings me to what I hope is the second biggest thing I did right with my son, which is laugh wholeheartedly at his jokes and enjoy the boring minutia of the day-to-day. A few weeks ago, after he left for school one morning, I was tidying up the breakfast dishes and I realised how much I love — like, deeply love — the normal routine of a child’s life. The eggs and toast or cereal in the morning before school; the early Saturday morning drives to the hundreds of football matches, followed often by a cheeky Tim Horton’s on the way home. Even the laundry and the dental appointments and the school runs (though I admit I am reaching the end of my patience with the late-night football training sessions.) I love this stuff not because it’s fun. It’s not fun. But it brings me peace. It grounds me in the moment and it reminds me of the purpose of my life, which is to shepherd this small human into adulthood, and then let him go. 

That is one of the many things my son has given me — a sense of purpose. Also: an enormous boost of confidence from the moment he was born, as if being entrusted with the life of an entire human person was absolutely the best promotion I could have ever asked for.  Because that’s exactly what it was. 

He also taught me how full of tenderness small male humans are. He’s always been nurturing and always looked out for other kids, comforting fellow toddlers at day care when they were upset, or watching over a wild two year old when he was three, to make sure she didn’t fall in a canal. One evening when he was about 8, I walked into his room to check on him after I had made him go to bed (every bed time was a battle) and he said in a joyous voice: “The queen of the multiverse has come to give me a kiss!” I don’t think lovelier words have ever been spoken. 

I understand how lucky I am, in many ways, that I have had an emotionally unfettered connection to my son. I understand what a blessing that is. Not to mention that he was the kind of kid who was never sick, never wild enough to jump off great heights or run out in front of cars, and never called from a sleepover in the middle of the night because he was homesick and needed me to come get him. Though when he was a baby he cried for hours every night and when he was toddler he was extremely defiant. He often seemed like he found being that small immensely frustrating and annoying. He said no to everything. When I had to put my foot down, I did — which was several times a day. Many’s a meltdown was had. Perhaps that why his early teens have been surprisingly drama-free by comparison. He’s grown into himself and I no longer have to drag him kicking and screaming into, then out of, the bathtub, or force him to take a nap. These days, he brushes his teeth of his own volition. (Or so he tells me.)

Even when I was in the thick of those battles, I always saw the silver lining to my son’s hard-headedness. He always had mettle. When he was only five years old, he flew by himself for the first time all the way from Ireland to New York. He was going to visit his father, a year and a half after we had broken up. When I think back on it, I can’t believe I was willing to let his tiny little body fly thousands of miles away, with only an airline employee as a companion. But I desperately wanted him to see his father, and he showed absolutely no fear when presented with the idea. Anyway, when the time came for him to leave me, standing at the very same security gate he nonchalantly walked through this morning, I could see his little face start to crumple and tears well up in his eyes. But just as I went to reach for him and comfort him, he literally took a deep breath, let go of my hand, puffed up his chest, looked me dead in the eye and then turned and walked through the gate with the random Aer Lingus employee tasked with getting him on the plane. I stood there, stunned, watching his little backpack disappear. I knew then he was going to be fine. 

We’ll see how I get on these six weeks without him, my best sidekick and greatest accomplishment. Wish me luck.