Raising babies to be healthy, happy people is the most
difficult thing I've ever attempted to do - and that's on a good day.
If there is anything else going on (and usually, it's always
something), motherhood can push me right up against my edge, wondering if this
is the time I might break.
The past few months for Marie (and me) have been
difficult. After years of motoring her for scoliosis, we have decided it was
time for her to get a brace.
After waiting in the tiny waiting area, an elderly gentleman
(and I use that term very loosely) introduced himself and asked Marie to step
on the scale. When she stepped off the scale, he chuckled to himself and asked
her, "Hm. Do you like to eat?"
Marie looked at me with a mix of shock and confusion. He
looked at me, and repeated the question, but this time more like an answer.
"She likes to eat."
I was in disbelief that he would address her weight in such a
way. I was already off my game because I was so nervous about this appointment,
so I gather whatever wits I have left and say, "Yes, she does like to
eat."
He then briefly left the room, and Marie frantically asked,
"Is he calling me fat?!"
Desperately trying to protect her, I told her, "Of
course not!"
He then scoffed about how she was determined to not let this
brace get in the way of her personal style.
I didn't think it could get any worse, but then he looked up
from the X-Ray and asked me, “Do you
know what the number of her curve?”
“Uh, yes, I think so. But isn’t it on the x-ray?” I have 0
technical training in reading an X-ray, but I was able to find the number with
an arrow pointing to the obvious curve in her back.
“Oh, yep. There it
is,” he said matter of factly.
Any shred of faith that I had in this guy was totally lost.
I wanted to bolt out of there, but felt trapped by the code
of etiquette.
We got to the car, and I blurted out, “He was an
asshole. You know, someone once said
something about my weight when I was a little older than you, and it really
hurt my feelings. But it wasn’t for me
to take in. Don’t take it in.”
She looked at me thoughtfully and said, “Just say you what
you want say. You know you want to say
the MF word.”
Lost in a moment of truth and solidarity I hugged her
close. “You are right. He was an mother f*ucking asshole.”
Ugh. I was already
feeling like failure.
Maybe I should have
gotten her those orthotics when she was a toddler and then we wouldn’t be in
the mess now.
And then I felt like I failed again because I just sat there
in disbelief at ALL of the professional incompetnecies I witnessed in a 10
minute period instead of storming out. (Although she did witness me taking
quick action of calling the office to cancel our brace, found a new place, and
let our referring doctor know what happened).
I worry that because I didn’t call him out, she will think it
is OK to have someone comment on her body.
I worry that I didn’t get angry enough in that office. I worry that I got too angry after we
left.
This is just one scenario – never mind all the
second-guessing I do about managing her anxiety. And the reaching out to moms I don’t really
know to try and make play dates – that’s so awkward that I actually feel like a
tap-dancing monkey. Maybe not exactly
because the monkey might not have the self-awareness to analyze every bumbling
conversation.
This is gig is hard. So hard. Some mornings I wake up with achy shoulders
because I was literally clenching my body all night. I try to approach uncomfortable motherhood
situations like I approach a pose that I can’t stand in yoga (revolved moon,
perhaps, or inverted triangle): deep breaths and an understanding that I am
going to meet this pose in the body that I have today, which may or may not be
different than last time.
But that focus is hard to sustain, especially when there is
another child that needs me or laundry has to get done or I have to work and
write. It’s in those moments where my
ego sneaks in and leads me to believe I have to work harder at controlling all
of the variables. It’s that constant
struggle of “I am enough” and “You pretty much suck at this job.”
In the spirit of Mother’s Day and really embracing my
self-care practice, I am going to lean towards “I am enough.” Yes, I wish I could have been Beyonce in that
doctor’s office and been all “boy bye.”
But it’s where I was at that moment.
We are all enough.
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| This was taken at a family party. There were a lot of people there so it was kind of rare to have a photo of just the two of us. I wish every day looked that sparkly and put together. |
