Mothering and grief.

My baby turned one and it was hard.

“Throughout patriarchal mythology, dream-symbolism, theology, language, two ideas flow side by side: one, that the female body is impure, corrupt, the site of discharges, bleedings, dangerous to masculinity, a source of moral and physical contamination, “the devil’s gateway.” On the other hand, as mother the woman is beneficent, sacred, pure, asexual, nourishing; and the physical potential for motherhood—that same body with its bleedings and mysteries—is her single destiny and justification in life. These two ideas have become deeply internalized in women, even in the most independent of us, those who seem to lead the freest lives.”

- Adrienne Rich

Whilst the absolute dickwadding pro-natalist lumps over at the White House shilly-shally around trying to figure out how to make America have babies again/further oppress women and other birthing people, I have been in full Motherhood grief mode.

My baby turned one, and I struggled with that.

I struggled because experiencing pregnancy, birth, and then a full year of Mothering is massive and intense, and I constantly feel like I’m failing.

I wanted to be a relaxed Mama (italics necessary) with linen dresses and glowy skin but instead I’m angry a lot of the time, I still pee myself when I cough and I sleep in my clothes, which are mostly well worn over sized tracksuits.

I also don’t quite know who I am anymore. The older my baby gets, the more my identity seems to escape from me. It’s as though I’m slowly disappearing, like one of the siblings in that photo in Back to the Future.

I have a mug that says, ‘the days are long but the years are short’. When I received the mug in those very first weeks of contact naps, constant feeding, gooey love-soaked days and sleepless nights, absolute wonder and terror, I cried. And today, as I chase this glorious baby turned tiny toddler around the house, that mug still makes me cry. She’s the coolest person I’ve ever met and I want time to stand still even for a moment, but it feels like it’s slipping away.

The year mark has, therefore, highlighted failures, as well as a loss of self and time (no biggie). I know that some ecru-tone-golden-hour-sun-flared Mama (again, necessary) Instagram reel might try to tell me that I’m shedding old parts of myself in order to become someone new. And maybe that Instagram reel is spot on. But it doesn’t really feel like that whilst I’m down in the baby poop trenches screaming to no one that ‘I can’t do this’.

What I’m experiencing often feels really fucking lonely, and definitely hamster wheel-ish. What I’m experiencing also feels pretty normal for someone living in a culture that ignores, and erases Mothers; that ignores and erases women (and non-normative gendered people).

Whilst in birthday party planning mode I wildly tried to figure out where one could find a real live unicorn at this time of year (jokes, I know unicorns are extinct because of climate change). The added labour of planning didn’t make me feel like any more of a real live human with any kind of real live autonomy, but it did kind of a little bit have me remember my worth. Being a nurse, cleaner, laundress, handy person, plumber, gardener, personal assistant, manager, event coordinator, and more for this tiny little person and my household reminds me that I am quite impressive indeed (… albeit stressed and tired out of my grey matter devoid mind).

In her book, Essential Labor: Mothering as Social Change, Angela Garbes says the following:

“Mothering is sensual—endemic to the body and bringing both profound joy and fulfillment. It cultivates and nurtures a child’s life force and essence. It is labor that can bestow a primal sense of satisfaction to children and caregivers alike.” - Angela Garbes

I feel this so hard.

But I also feel all the challenging stuff (which Garbes goes into in perfect detail in her book). Like grief. Frustration. Boredom. Parenting really is the most profoundly joyous experience, it is also, often, the most mundane.

Her birthday has been and gone and the mug was right; the year was short. My days are still filled with what feels like mountains of invisible labour and I don’t have any idea who I am, but through this period of grief, I’ve been able to muster up a bit of compassion. I’ve been able to remind myself that although society does not value the care work, domestic labour, emotional labour, mental load, and all of the rest of it that Mothers endlessly and painstakingly provide without any form of compensation, the work of Mothering (a non-gendered verb) is, indisputably valuable and crucial work, and as always, I’m doing the best that I can.

So, congratulations to me (or whoever I am) for one year of Mothering.

To all other Mothers… wow! Truly fucking impressive indeed.

And once again and always, fuck you Trump administration. Honestly.

Note: When I say that I’m doing the best that I can I also acknowledge that I have a hefty chunk of privilege on my side so a MASSIVE shout out to marginalised and under represented Mothers and primary care takers.

AND:

Don’t Have Children

Make America Fertile Again

Does Parenting Make You Happy or Unhappy?

April life stuff… things I’ve been doing… things I’ve been enjoying…

Photos by Annie Spratt on Unsplash, Vero Manrique on Unsplash, Vicky Ng on Unsplash

• Pastries from La Pana bakery, one of my fave spots in Louisville (maybe the world!).

• Taking the baby to the zoo.

• Listening to Drive by Sza.

• Having my baby’s paternal Grandma stay with us and love on the babe for a month.

• Celebrating baby’s birthday in the park on a glorious sunny April day, and feeding people classic Australian party faves like fairy bread and sausage rolls.

• Facetiming Australia.

• Teaching ‘head, shoulders, knees, and toes’ to babe.

• Making sourdough bread again.

• Planting wild flowers.

• Watering my garden.

• Spring blooms in Louisville.

• Doing yin yoga.

• Eating outdoors with friends.

• Peter Dutton getting called ‘Temu Trump’. Please Gawd don’t let him be Prime Minister next week. Dutton is a racist misogynistic twat but also

  Isabel Sandercock-Brown
  wrote a great practical piece about other reasons you shouldn’t vote for him.

• Loving Doechii’s Anxiety music video!

I haven’t really been able to read or listen to podcasts or watch tv and so, I cannot add anything of that kind to my list. It’s mostly all baby stuff. And then there has been the me grieving stuff. I hope to be more interesting next month (or someday again in my life). Also, I’m not sad anymore (at the moment).

Thank you SO much for being here with me.

I HOPE THAT YOU ARE ABLE TO TAKE CARE OF YOURSELVES
AND YOUR COMMUNITIES

LOTS OF LOVE XX

This email was composed where I live, which is the land now known as, Louisville, Kentucky; the unceded land of the ᏣᎳᎫᏪᏘᏱ Tsalaguwetiyi (Cherokee, East) , 𐓏𐒰𐓓𐒰𐓓𐒷 𐒼𐓂𐓊𐒻𐓆𐒻𐒿𐒷 𐓀𐒰^𐓓𐒰^(Osage), Shawandasse Tula (Shawanwaki/Shawnee) people, as well as the people of the Hopewell and Adena Culture. I am originally from, what is now referred to as, Melbourne, Australia. I would, therefore, also like to acknowledge the people of the Kulin Nation, Traditional Custodians of the land on which I grew up. I pay my respects to their Elders past and present.