Motherhood
Was trying to think today about how I would describe motherhood to the people I know who are not yet mothers but would like to be. Some people I know would say it's the best thing ever (changes your life etc) and to enjoy your little one because they grow up too fast and time goes by so quickly.
For me, whilst I love my son, love children and love having a child of my own to raise, a permanent entree, for the next 12 years or so, into childhood shenanigans and thoughts, I don't yet feel that enthusiastic about motherhood. I found my most recent job enjoyable and rewarding, and only occasionally had bad days (when I felt as though I'd misjudged or mismanaged a situation). This doesn't mean that I'm finding motherhood like a bad job, or lacking in reward, just that I've already had the satisfaction of spending my day immersed in an activity I find rewarding and that reflects the effort I put in. I know that I was always feel proud of the ways I care for my son, just that it won't be the only thing I'm proud of. On the other hand I know the comfort of family, the satisfaction of having a family unit to return home to when the day has otherwise sucked. A is having that feeling at the moment, when his professional life is temporarily in a state of limbo and I know how much he misses the homeplace, wishes he was the one staying home instead of me. The unfairness that only mothers can breastfeed.
Today I organised to meet a colleague, also on maternity leave, at the Botanical Gardens tomorrow. She was at the mall, and seemed as keen as me to have outings organised for weekdays, describing how her own child only sleeps well in the pram or the car. I can get the baby to sleep, briefly, at home during the day, but only if he's in the sling, and it's always manipulated. Much prefer it when he sleeps on our walks and we spend time outdoors. I took an easier walk today-around the parklands and then to a neighbourhood rose garden where I read and started a letter. He slept a little, fed, sat on my lap and we could have stayed even longer outdoors but unfortunately it rained hard summer rain.
And in a different note, it is typical that on a weekend when I refuse to buy the Weekend Australian (a revolt against it's editorial tone and painfully annoying selective reporting, which fortunately has not infected Review), Review has particularly good articles. There was a great essay on summer by James Bradley, and book and music reviews recommending books and albums I wanted to purchase for Christmas. I managed to read some of it at my sisters house yesterday. She was an absolute champion-carried the baby around in a sling whilst we visited Arts in the Hart, an artists market down at the Port Wharf. Bought a gyclee print of one of the Port mills, browsed work by other printmakers, "secretly" bought a pottery bowl for my nephews to give her for Christmas ("have you bought anything for Mum yet?" "Nope" "Do you want me to buy this bowl?" "Yep"). When we returned home I presented the bowl to my eldest nephew whilst breastfeeding, only retrospectively realised I probably freaked him out with the sight of my boobs... And it was just so nice to be at a big old stone house inland from the beach with lots of company. First it was just my sister, A and the 2 eldest boys, then Phil brought Ash home, and Ash was back in proud big brother/cousin mode with the baby, cuddling him, giving him kisses, wanting to sit next to him on the bed and pat him. He even picked out his Wiggles DVD and offered to lend it to us ("Maybe we can borrow it when Lu is a toddler and starts liking the Wiggles). He helped my sister bath him and then chuckled and narrated along with the Baby Beethoven CD we had playing whilst I gave him the last evening feed. Gus joined us, wanted to know if Lu was enjoying watching the Beethoven DVD-"Well he can't actually see anything that far away yet... he can hear it...". What I could say is that I definitely liked it.
So far we have also played him the covers of Finn Brothers songs, done by female singers, that was a timely borrow from the library, slightly illuminating the biography I''d just finished. Am now halfway through FREEDOM by Jonathan Franzen, which is just perfectly aligned with upcoming book club where we are discussing either The Corrections or Freedom. Part of what I like about his books is what I liked about The Slap by CHristos Tsiolkas, I like how the story moves along with different narrators taking turns to tell the story. The characters are middle class, the details provided about the minatue of their lives reminds me of Armistead Maupin, but it slightly chides them for being middle class and also shows how fragile their middle class status is, how some of the characters have only just escaped being poor and uneducated, how much an education can change your life. Richard Katz is one of those characters you can immediately pictures, skinny and appealing to women simply because of his intellect that he channels into music, and his ability to correctly judge the character of people. Reading this book reminds me of the stories you have in your own life, the memories that you could retell and change details of and turn into another fiction or into someone else's story.
For me, whilst I love my son, love children and love having a child of my own to raise, a permanent entree, for the next 12 years or so, into childhood shenanigans and thoughts, I don't yet feel that enthusiastic about motherhood. I found my most recent job enjoyable and rewarding, and only occasionally had bad days (when I felt as though I'd misjudged or mismanaged a situation). This doesn't mean that I'm finding motherhood like a bad job, or lacking in reward, just that I've already had the satisfaction of spending my day immersed in an activity I find rewarding and that reflects the effort I put in. I know that I was always feel proud of the ways I care for my son, just that it won't be the only thing I'm proud of. On the other hand I know the comfort of family, the satisfaction of having a family unit to return home to when the day has otherwise sucked. A is having that feeling at the moment, when his professional life is temporarily in a state of limbo and I know how much he misses the homeplace, wishes he was the one staying home instead of me. The unfairness that only mothers can breastfeed.
Today I organised to meet a colleague, also on maternity leave, at the Botanical Gardens tomorrow. She was at the mall, and seemed as keen as me to have outings organised for weekdays, describing how her own child only sleeps well in the pram or the car. I can get the baby to sleep, briefly, at home during the day, but only if he's in the sling, and it's always manipulated. Much prefer it when he sleeps on our walks and we spend time outdoors. I took an easier walk today-around the parklands and then to a neighbourhood rose garden where I read and started a letter. He slept a little, fed, sat on my lap and we could have stayed even longer outdoors but unfortunately it rained hard summer rain.
And in a different note, it is typical that on a weekend when I refuse to buy the Weekend Australian (a revolt against it's editorial tone and painfully annoying selective reporting, which fortunately has not infected Review), Review has particularly good articles. There was a great essay on summer by James Bradley, and book and music reviews recommending books and albums I wanted to purchase for Christmas. I managed to read some of it at my sisters house yesterday. She was an absolute champion-carried the baby around in a sling whilst we visited Arts in the Hart, an artists market down at the Port Wharf. Bought a gyclee print of one of the Port mills, browsed work by other printmakers, "secretly" bought a pottery bowl for my nephews to give her for Christmas ("have you bought anything for Mum yet?" "Nope" "Do you want me to buy this bowl?" "Yep"). When we returned home I presented the bowl to my eldest nephew whilst breastfeeding, only retrospectively realised I probably freaked him out with the sight of my boobs... And it was just so nice to be at a big old stone house inland from the beach with lots of company. First it was just my sister, A and the 2 eldest boys, then Phil brought Ash home, and Ash was back in proud big brother/cousin mode with the baby, cuddling him, giving him kisses, wanting to sit next to him on the bed and pat him. He even picked out his Wiggles DVD and offered to lend it to us ("Maybe we can borrow it when Lu is a toddler and starts liking the Wiggles). He helped my sister bath him and then chuckled and narrated along with the Baby Beethoven CD we had playing whilst I gave him the last evening feed. Gus joined us, wanted to know if Lu was enjoying watching the Beethoven DVD-"Well he can't actually see anything that far away yet... he can hear it...". What I could say is that I definitely liked it.
So far we have also played him the covers of Finn Brothers songs, done by female singers, that was a timely borrow from the library, slightly illuminating the biography I''d just finished. Am now halfway through FREEDOM by Jonathan Franzen, which is just perfectly aligned with upcoming book club where we are discussing either The Corrections or Freedom. Part of what I like about his books is what I liked about The Slap by CHristos Tsiolkas, I like how the story moves along with different narrators taking turns to tell the story. The characters are middle class, the details provided about the minatue of their lives reminds me of Armistead Maupin, but it slightly chides them for being middle class and also shows how fragile their middle class status is, how some of the characters have only just escaped being poor and uneducated, how much an education can change your life. Richard Katz is one of those characters you can immediately pictures, skinny and appealing to women simply because of his intellect that he channels into music, and his ability to correctly judge the character of people. Reading this book reminds me of the stories you have in your own life, the memories that you could retell and change details of and turn into another fiction or into someone else's story.
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