When the kid is finally asleep, Wood goes to bed without speaking to me. So I sit alone listening to the same song over and over, too angry to do anything. Sometimes I’m sure I have no idea what I’m doing, no lodestar here in the never-darkness of Detroit. I fear that I am fucking her up and failing both of them in ways I cannot even imagine. I am no good. I suddenly crave untethered selfishness. I don’t want to be responsible for anyone. I don’t want to go back into that room. I don’t want to tell another story. I don’t want to fight with my wife again tonight. I don’t want to end this with some pithy observation that despite all this, parenthood is worth it. Not today. Because even if that is true, sometimes it can be so hard, too. And I need to acknowledge how terrified I am of going through it all again.
This post above from the father of Sweet Juniper and the one below from the mother of Life in One Day really grabbed me. I almost feel mean linking to both of these posts such is their raw honesty.
Mummy and Daddy blogs really get a hammering in the reputation stakes of writing, they’re all supposed to be sappy and mindless like parenting itself perhaps, but these two posts prove how much of parenthood is not sappy and mindless at all. Parenthood can feel like flirting with your own disintegration. These two posts tell me a lot about the experience of becoming a parent, about being pushed to the edge and holding it together, and about losing your very identity and forming a new one; stuff that I’ve never seen properly said in a parenting manual. Writing like this is so personal and yet universal all at once. There are many terrific reasons for blogging but the ability to liberate others through your own honesty is worthy indeed.
I was independent, he was independent. We had our problems for sure but I was pretty self-sufficient. Being pregnant and being a SAHM changes all of that. And I don’t think Husband likes having someone so dependent on him, someone who NEEDS things from him that may not be what he would normally do.
I have this vision of the woman he should really be with. She is really fit, has long, dark-blonde hair she wears in a ponytail and is really tan from her time on the slopes and doing other outdoorsy athletic things. She has a great professional job which she loves, has a lot of friends, has her own money, maybe even owned her own house before they met. And if they have a baby, well, she is super competent, finding the perfect childcare right away and going about her business. She breastfed with no trouble, recovered from childbirth without a whimper (she probably didn’t need a c-section either), and is so interesting and hot that he can’t keep his hands off of her. Above all she is self reliant and needs nothing from him beyond friendship. That’s why she turns him on so much. They have a great time together because she never asks anything of him. She can totally take care of herself.
I could sort of pretend I was her before I had the baby, but now I can’t keep that charade up any longer. I’m tired and worn out and lonely and worried and I need help just getting normal things done.
(If you’re going to comment on this post bear in mind that these are the intimate thoughts of two parents having a shitty time this week).
blue milk 
This is vital honesty. I live vicariously through other people’s honesty sometimes–I can’t quite get myself to write with total freedom about the darkest moments of being a mother (I badly wish I could). But when others do it, I can get bits of it out by responding…
I could never have said those things out loud, but I’ve had both of those days, many many times. Kudos to painfully honest bloggers.
“flirting with your own disintergration’ – yes, exactly. I think of all the blog I read (and I read across a lot of genres) the parenting blogs are , as a whole,the most honest and reflective, but also the most finely wrought, with language and images that make me stop and catch me breath.
Where’s the shame in struggle and in bad days, in fear and tiredness and nostalgia for the ease of a previous life that we miss but don’t want to return to?
Someone gave me a book that included a section on different clothing styles to see you through pregnancy (‘the softly romantic’, the ‘professional’) but there wasn’t anything on how to reconstruct a sense of self to see you through life. We absolutely need these blogs, as writers, as readers and as a community.
I am grateful to see those posts, from blogs I hadn’t read, and thankful that there is a sense of community here. I think about how often I see the disclaimer “This isn’t (just another) mommy blog” and will think about making it in the future, because the parenting identity doesn’t preclude substance or an ability to connect with other human beings, it is for me, intertwined with those — I want to be taken seriously not despite being a mother, nor perhaps, simply because I am a mother, but as a mother who takes herself, and parenting, seriously? I think about how it’s not just isolating and hard to be a parent, but to be a parent always projecting having it under control, always projecting knowing what you are doing — and what a tremendous relief it is to have that isolation broken by the small confirmation that yes, it is a real struggle, to see thoughts similar to the ones you struggle with laid out with such honesty and clarity. It’s hard not to wish that I had had this eleven years ago when I first crossed the threshold and became a stay-at-home mother and was overwhelmed at all of the adjustments. I feel like my comments here are always “Hear, hear!” but I am truly grateful that this conversation is taking place and I can dip into it as my time permits.
Oh wow, I am so flattered to find a section of my own post here on a blog that inspires ME. Thank you so much. This mothering thing has blindsided me in a way I can barely cope with, and has so derailed my marriage we are barely hanging on. My blog is my journal I suppose, but is so much more alive than an entry in a notebook would be. I send my thoughts out there and hope that someone reading understands. Thank you for validating my experience.
I was getting the dinner ready the other day when the bloke got home from work. The baby was hanging on to my legs and grizzling.
Bloke: What’s wrong?
Me: I’m having one of those days where I really wanted to come home from work to my own little flat, cook myself dinner and eat while reading.
Bloke: Sometimes I don’t have those days.
And we’re doing well. I’m just glad we have those feelings and days together.
Bluemilk, I’ve discovered many of my favorite blogs through you. Thanks for being such a resource for feminist writing, parenting writing and just plain good writing.
Kris, these words are gorgeous: “but there wasn’t anything on how to reconstruct a sense of self to see you through life.” Thanks for saying that so well.
thank you for sharing. and acknowledging exactly why i’m one of those parent-bloggers. because out here, i don’t have to pretend i’m okay. i can be not okay, and everyone’s okay with that.
This kind of writing takes my breath away and reminds me of just how hard it is to be so honest. I find it particularly difficult to be completely honest about the challenges of parenting because I not only share my blog with my husband, but I know that my whole family (and his) regularly read my blog.
It is hard to disintegrate so clearly in front of your grandparents and in-laws. Maybe I need another secret blog?
rubyredgirl – I’m so relieved that you’re flattered about the use of your post and not annoyed. You summed up an experience so well, though it’s not an experience I had I could feel its truth. I hope things get better, or simpler very soon for you. Keep writing!
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Thank you, for linking these – “flirting with disintegration” indeed. It’s good to feel validated and less alone.