I really wish I could write things like this. In lieu of that, I’ll find it and link to it here. It’s almost word-for-word what I would say if I had the writing talent. Via ParentHacks.
Like Atlas, I hold up our little world and no Heracles is coming to give me a break. I have the loving help of my husband and my parents, as well as a willing cadre of friends, but the fact remains that this weight is mine alone.
As backbreaking as the burden sometimes feels, it also strengthens and defines me. Invisibly I underlie everything my children are becoming. I am bedrock. My importance has never been greater, and though I’m relieved to feel the load shrinking as the kids get older, I know my relevance is shrinking as well. Soon my kids’ shoulders will be strong enough to carry their own bags, and their PDAs will hold the details of their lives, much of which will be separate from mine. The promise of freedom is intoxicating, but already I begin to feel the ache of muscles unused, of the empty space in my arms.
Heaviest of all, heavier than the backpack or the practical details I keep in my head, is my intense, almost crippling love for my children. Nothing prepared me for how stricken and vulnerable I’d feel after they were born. Alongside the joy that sometimes seems as if it will shatter my ribs, a cold wariness has crept into my chest.
You know, my husband will likely be somewhat disturbed by this post, and with some justification. After all, he is an amazingly involved father, and adores the kids just as I do. But in some ways, it’s just different, being the mommy. He will disagree with that, but I think it’s true. Sorry, Dear.
Hi Jill — first of all, thank you so much for what you said about my writing. You know — my husband was somewhat taken aback when he read it. He, too, is incredibly involved, but the dark parts I wrote about surprised and unsettled him. As you say…it’s just different.