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The Good Mother

06.08.09 | motherhood | 50 Comments

In adolescence it is enough to be “bad,” but in motherhood it is necessary, apparently, to make “bad the new good” and to tell it like it is which is your way and shine the light on the truth that only Bad Mothers are interesting, real, or someone you could stomach having lunch with.

I have a confession to make: I am a good mother. I know this comes as a surprise to many of you, because I have angsted over being a bad mother and hated being a mother and wished I could do anything else please by everything holy make the whining stop for five seconds so I can think.

But the truth is: I am a good mother.

Here are the facts:

I gave up caffeine for the first three months of my first pregnancy. Sally weighed over nine pounds, so I vowed to drink gallons of the stuff next time.

I breastfed, even when it was painful at first, and even when I sometimes felt like a human pacifier, back before it was trendy to complain about feeling like a human pacifier.

I daydream about going to law school or getting a masters in “motherhood archetypes in modern literature” or putting my kids in daycare so I can sit at Panera with my laptop all day, but I don’t. Not yet.

The TV hasn’t been on at all since summer began eight days ago. (For them. It’s been on after 9 pm. Oh, yes.)

Spot, at 2 1/2, can swim like an embryonic minnow and say words like “Rameumptom.”

Susan, at 4 1/2, can write her name, left-handed, upside-down, like the boy on Fringe who’d been sealed underground for years.

Sally, at 8, can choose a “Native-American” Barbie doll and answer the following social-awareness question correctly: “Which is more important — the color of someone’s skin or what kind of person they are inside?”

But that is only the good stuff, right? Of course I only tell you the good stuff, as a good mother, right?

Tell me — does anyone, anywhere, think that a Good Mother has only good stuff to tell?

Or that a good mother cannot tell anything at all, because she is too busy being repressed and dictated and obscured by niqab? In our western culture, with our free speech protections, are the “good” people those who are silent and dumb and unheard-from, or are the good people those who give voice to the obscure, the unpopular, the uncool? “Cool” probably isn’t even the right word, I am so far, far from embodying that trait.

I am a good mother, and I have bad to share: Like the time I whacked Sally on the head with a hairbrush because she wouldn’t hold still for a ponytail, and the time I yelled at Susan that I didn’t give a flying f&*^ if she didn’t want to wear her seatbelt because wear her seatbelt is what she had to do. And the time I ignored baby Spot crying in her crib because I just had to finish one more page of my trashy romance novel if you know what I mean.

Still, I am a Good Mother. I am not and never will be cool, sophisticated, or cynical enough to charmingly regale you with how proud I am to be a Bad Mother. I don’t let other people tell me what I have to do to be a good mother, either. Nor can I tell you whether you are a good mother or not (though chances are, if you try to be, and if you don’t do crack while you’re pregnant, you probably are).

The way I see it, being a good mother takes two things: 1) the desire to be a good mother: the earnest, chumpish, embarrassingly dorky, peasanty desire to be a good mother. And 2) the will to do those things that she determines to be important for the well-being of her children. Even those that require sacrifice, change of habit, or a lot of w-o-r-k.

For example, she can’t say “Of course nutrition is important, but I have to have a life too, don’t I? So I let my kids eat dingdongs for dinner yo-ho-ho, aren’t I fabulously way-cool?” Maybe nutrition isn’t important to her. Fine. THAT doesn’t make her a bad mother. Maybe she has great genes for winnowing the beta carotene from a cheese puff that she passed on to her kids. Fine (and can I get some of that?).

No, what makes someone a bad mother is knowing or believing that something isn’t good for her kids, and yet revelling in them doing it, whatever it is. And revelling in her own bad behavior (that she herself deems bad), whatever that is.

Being a good mother means wanting and trying to be a good mother. Why wouldn’t you want to be good at what you do or who you are? Do we wish to be friends with Bad People? Does anyone want their cancer treated by a woman proud of being a Bad Doctor? Would we like our country led by a Bad President? The difference here, of course, is that the Good Mother’s consituents do not include any other mothers or any other mother’s children. (My constituents are myself, my husband sometimes, and my children infrequently. Not my mother or mother-in-law or the internet.)

And here is the real problem: If a mother cannot shrug off the opinions of those who are not her constituents, this is not the fault of the term Good Mother, this is a weakness of personality that looks to others for approval. And, not seeing that needy reassurance forthcoming, rocks itself in a corner shouting intermittently, “Oh yeah, maybe I am a Bad Mother, but I LIKE it. So there.”

This doesn’t mean a good mother never questions herself, never worries or hopes to improve, of course she does, that is the whole point. A good mother seeks better ways to do things, just as a good doctor learns new surgical technique thingies. And maybe somedays she feels like a bad mother, because let’s face it, on some days the good mother is a real bad mother. It happens.

Thinking yourself a bad mother for falling short of your own goals is not the same as thinking yourself a bad mother because other people said so. One is a valid gauge of one’s progress, the other is just stupid.

And I know I said I wasn’t cool, but I do get that this whole embracing of the Bad Mother term is a linguistic reclaiming of the something-something-revolutionary-blah-blah-the-man-and-the-media-is-holding-us-down-and-making-us-feel-bad-about-ourselves-something-something.

But the truth is that bad means bad and good means good. They always have, and they probably always will. Instead of reclaiming “bad” I say we reclaim “good,” from both the sanctimonious and the self-satisfiedly-smug not-good. I do believe that would make us counter-revolutionaries, which, beat THAT for being better than bad.

I’ll go first:

Hi, my name is Jane (okay, it’s Shannon) and I am a good mother.

totally unrelated, but fun to read

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