My day starts at 5:30 every morning. This is the time I get up to make my husband’s lunch, iron his shirt and brew a pot of coffee for us to share. Some of you may feel that this makes Mikey spoiled but I do this for him every day because, when I needed it, he graciously negotiated a change to his work day so that he could start work at the ungodly hour of 7am, and thus be permitted to leave in time to pick my kids up after school, and avoid expensive daycare charges. After he leaves, my morning really begins with packing lunches, shepherding children into clothing and through breakfast, and ferrying out to several different locations for school.
All that, before I start work.
When Mikey gets home, he sits the kids down to homework, starts dinner and tidies up the breakfast mess I left behind. After dinner, we both work for most of the evening on laundry, cleaning and playing games or reading with one or all of the kids. This is on the days when I don’t work at my second job – when I do, Mikey does it all on his own.
For most Mondays to Fridays it’s rinse/repeat. Weekends include additional activities like hiking, swimming or road trips and visits to family.
And just when you are all starting to think that Mikey and I are either insane, or we’re shameless masochists, I will explain that you are probably right – on both counts.
This schedule and the tasks that go along with it are exhausting and frustrating, and often thankless. Our children can be petulant, demanding and heartily ungrateful…sometimes. They can also be willful and unpredictable and can sometimes inspire profound disappointment…but rarely.
So why do we do it? I can only speak for myself when I say I go through this back-breaking rigor and thankless effort because, ultimately, I am selfish.
You see, everyone thinks that parenthood is a selfless pursuit filled with sacrifice, and many people, mostly childless ones, regard the relationship between parent and child as parasitic in nature. But they would be wrong. This can be forgiven though. Many people make this mistake mostly because the weaker minded among us child-bearers tend to hide the nature of this relationship. They have assimilated the negative interpretation of the term “selfish” and prefer to adopt the mantle of the martyr, in parenthood. The main consequence of which is to give the outward impression, to those without the predisposition for having children, that procreation is all gut-wrenching and no glory.
Nothing could be further from the truth.
Understanding my priorities is essential to understanding why my motivations for going through the back-breaking work I do, are primarily selfish. You see, I get to be somebody’s hero. Or in my case, I get to be a hero to 6 little somebodies. Better yet, I get to be seen as a hero to countless periphery characters who only catch a glimpse of the Herculean job I do, and are still impressed. When people see our 8-person entourage in the grocery store, and they witness our bevy of children being well-behaved, engaged and happy, it is Mikey and I, as their parents, who are being judged most favorably. We do good work, and it shows. And everyone likes to be appreciated for their hard work.
But it’s not just family and strangers.
One day, my children will be grown and will have occasion to look back and consider who has had the most impact on their world view and the forming of their own (hopefully highly successful) lives. When they do, I want my name to be high on that list. I want them to look back and say “My mom was a force of nature who never let anything stand in her way. She taught me to go fearlessly after what I want” and I want them to end up better than I am now, so that I will have been at least partially responsible for leaving the world a better place for having been here. Their success is my success because I believe that the work and dedication I put into their lives now, is the example they will use for their own lives in adulthood.
I sure hope I’m right. Otherwise, I’ve done all this work for nothing.
But the well of overwhelming pride I feel when I hear my son play Fur Elise on the piano, is the fuel I use when I feel like I can’t go on any further. I could never play that. And it sounds so beautiful. And he worked so hard at it because I showed him how to and gave him the encouragement he needed, to feel like he could.
They all get that, and I feel that same recharge every time one of them accomplishes something great.
But it’s when they feel the most defeated, deflated and discouraged, that I really know whether I’ve accomplished what I’ve set out to. When they feel like the whole world is against them and they haven’t got a single ally, they turn to me to guide them through it with advice and solutions that they can trust. I am their hero, and they know that whatever the problem, I can help them work it out and solve it, and I will never let my wants remain in conflict with what is the best choice for them.
That trust is my life’s work and it is more valuable to me than anything else I could ever accomplish.
People have kids for many different reasons. Either they regard it as something one is just supposed to do, or they want to live vicariously through someone they can help shape, or they have them because they want to make someone else happy (a spouse or family).
I had my children for some of these reasons, in varying measures. But I remain dedicated to my children the way I do because, despite the reason I chose to give birth, since then it has become clear to me that what I need and what makes me feel most fulfilled, is to be their hero.
Those of you who choose to be childless often fail to understand these motivations, and look at child-bearers as though we are some imponderable species from another planet. Or you condescendingly regard us as unfortunate mules, relegated to a status little more than slaves – and for many yuppie-centric designer kiddie type households this holds true. But for the rest of us, our motivations aren’t so different from yours. The only major variation is the target audience.
Childless people want to be heroes too. They just target colleagues, peers, or the world at large. They want to be highly regarded, trusted and seen as successful, and they often work just as hard or more so, to cultivate this goal.
Same motivation, just less physical contact required and a little more public glory as reward. Oh, and (with very rare exceptions) a much smaller footprint left behind.
So, we’re not so different, after all. And at least I’m doing my part to train the next generation to be vanguard of the values we all hold so dear.
Please try to remember that when me and my 8-passenger SUV are taking up your precious bike lane, on the way to martial arts or dance classes.
