Maternal Instincts.

Maternity, Fernando Botero sculpture in the Garden Amalia Rodrigues in Lisbon, Portugal.

I was never the type of woman who longed to become a mother like most women I witnessed in my youth on the pages of magazines and the silver screen. I was bombarded by young girls who "couldn't wait to become a mother." It's not that I didn't want to become one, it's just that I honestly never gave it much thought or planned my dating life around it. Sure, I played house and pretended I was the mommy to my dolls, but that's about as far as the fantasy went. The older I got, my feelings turned into "I hope I don't get pregnant!" - followed up with some ruminating moments alone pondering that maybe it was (somehow) my fault and it seemed I just didn't have any "maternal instincts."

I remember one night in my early 30s, laying in bed bound by a restless slumber, separated from my first husband while I was in NYC for a job - caught in the cycle of fear of being pregnant but too scared to take a pregnancy test to see the truth. I felt so alone, uncomfortable, and scared of the unknown. Before I left for my 6-week theatre run, we talked about children and when we would start trying. The conversation confused me as I never even considered it, not to mention my judgment of him and my feelings towards his childish ways. But, that night, after the show, with the adrenaline still pumping in my veins from the night's performance, I lay in bed staring out of the window at the moon, terrified of becoming a mother.

The next day, I was able to muster up enough courage to walk to the pharmacy and get a pregnancy test. On my way down the sidewalk, I was seemingly overwhelmed by mothers of all walks of life passing me by. Some were jogging while pushing their sleeping baby in the stroller, some were unconsciously gabbing on their cell phones as their toddlers pushed next to them on a scooter, some wore bad wigs with a small village of children chaotically moving down the street alongside them, some looked as if they had just rolled out of bed without looking in the mirror, and some were working moms - very put together in designer outfits as they walked alongside their nanny - kissing their kid goodbye as they went on their way to work. Those women, strangely, were the ones I judged most. Maybe because I was raised by a nanny and defiantly thought - if I ever become a mother - I will do it all myself! But, at that specific time, I didn’t have to worry cause the pregnancy test I was so terrified to take ended up being negative. Phew.

I've often wondered if I didn't get pregnant with my son the way I had (in my mid-30s with an IUD) - if I would have ended up having children at all. I had, after all, spent most of my young adult years in constant fear of getting pregnant after having an abortion in my early 20s. I became obsessed (as most young girls do) with making sure I was not to get pregnant again. I also grew up in the 80s, at the beginning of the AIDS era, and was constantly bombarded with other fears of getting an STD. Especially during those times when I protected myself but the condom broke (to be revealed after the fact, of course) or the times when the asshole the condom was attached to would take the condom off mid-sesh without telling me as he finished inside of me and mutter gently, "I couldn't feel you baby" - but that is another post entirely so back to not having material instincts!

In retrospect, from a very young age, I was a natural caretaker (most girls are) and I've always played that role within my relationships. I was always the type to intensely pounce to "take care of things" when a friend was in need, struggling to figure out problems, always lending a helping hand in times of trouble - to be a sounding board, a nurturer, to talk until something was resolved. The more dramatic the better. But, if the mirror was turned in my direction, I never wanted to talk about my own problems (I didn't want to be a bother!) It was easier to deflect and help others. I always laughed off the discomfort and danced around to change my attitude while brushing my emotions into a box to deal with on a later date. I later realized this is a prevalent trait for us women to take on. This was most likely also influenced by the fact that I grew up in the age of group therapy, and from an early age - was witness to women's struggles and when that forgotten box of emotions was opened up for all to hear. Not sure who thought it was a good idea for kids to be witness to all this (group therapy should have been called family therapy or child care!) but I was one of those young children coloring with crayons while the middle-aged women talked about all their bottled-up feelings and how no one respects them or cares or hear them and all they do is give give give! Let's just say, it was a dramatic Sunday morning and absolutely rubbed off on my curiosity with life dramas - on and off the stage.

This deep need in us to brush emotions under the carpet, to control, to fix, and to pretend all is dandy has historically stemmed from the gender-specific role of being a woman. We have always, throughout history, taken care of everybody’s needs before our own - making sure everyone around was fed, bathed, clothed, or nursed back to health. It wasn't until I became a mother that I could see clearly how easily neglected we become to ourselves. This attitude is ingrained in our DNA. We women inherently desire to care for things - whether we become mothers or not. A brilliant example is a scene in the beloved holiday movie, "A Christmas Story" - where the wonderful actress who played the mother, Melinda Dillon, finally sat down at the table to enjoy and eat the dinner she had been preparing but, every time she would pick up her fork to dig into her warm plate of food to enjoy - she was more concerned that her children weren’t eating and so she encouraged them to play the piggy game until they ate their dinner. At that point, she was so enraptured with the amusement of the game and the fact that it worked (no matter how messy) that she put her fork down on her uneaten plate of food, relinquishing hunger and that the satisfaction of her kids eating was enough to fill her up with nourishment. I too, constantly catch myself in these moments. Especially when I sit my ass down to enjoy the meal I cooked, and one of my children complains or wants something else, or needs a drink or something or another. My favorite, however, is when I’m packing up for a day trip. I seem to only think of my kids to then realize, while we are already on the road, that I had forgotten to pack my own damn snacks, lunch, and warm jacket!

Being a woman comes with another defiant trait - having difficulty asking for help. Look, when I had my first child, I refused to get anyone to help me. I was lucky I could be a stay-at-home mom and was overcome with a sense of guilt if I felt like I needed an extra hand. I could handle it I thought. With the help of my husband (when he was home) - I was determined to do it alone. And though it was beautiful to be just with my baby all day - I completely negated myself in the process. I was so wrapped up in figuring out how to care for the baby - endless nursing, pumping, bath time, playtime, tummy time, reading time... that it was the first time in my life I had put someone else's needs in front of my own. I constantly forgo showering, eating, going to the bathroom, and sleeping. My life didn't matter as much as his. Now, to experience that for a few months is fabulous. But, there comes a point when that way of existence is wildly unhealthy and not sustaining. Your livelihood and worth should not be wrapped up in another person more than your own. Be it a child, partner, work, or friend. We all know that from experiencing codependent relationships (at least I did and embarrassingly repeated them too many times to admit before I learned my lesson!).

We all need help, and perhaps, stepping away from our need to control everything (!), the endless tasks of housewife/household/mundane adult shit that eats up our days like laundry, cleaning, food shopping, cooking, packing lunches, and on and on - now I can see, it's the ones that ask for help that opens the door to thriving in the balance of it all. Women are brilliant multitaskers. This is another survival mode engrained in us - we get stuff done - juggling so much in the process and not taking credit for everything we can accomplish daily. Not thinking we did enough, are enough, worthy enough (blah blah blah). Therefore, in this human experience called life, we traditionally came from villages back in the day that used to help each other out (especially the women) in every way. Not now, where we have morphed into selfish little beavers - defiantly thinking we can do it all on our own - to prove our own worth. The quicker we realize we are in this experience together - the faster we will see its abundant synergy of survival and be able to turn that mirror onto our own lives to see that we are the ones who need some maternal instincts towards ourselves. And so, I leave you with this humorous tea towel wisdom I just recently saw in our local country store “I keep hearing it takes a village to raise a child. Do they just show up? Or is there like, a number to call?”