Right, Wrong, Weak, Strong!

I have been reading a lot of that great philosopher Sandra Boynton lately. Specifically, her book entitled “Opposites.” And while it can’t touch her classic, “Moo, Baa, La La La” it does elucidate the way two opposing forces can come together to make a whole. Witness this passage: “In and Out. Whisper and SHOUT!” Or this poetic and intriguing (albeit a bit ageist) idea: “Hot and Cold. Young and Old.”

Okay. Enough of that. I do like Sandra Boynton, though . And she is proving to be as popular (i.e. “read it again, Mama! And again! And again!”) with Bell as she was with Spike when he was in his toddlerhood.

Today I called up my friend Ellen who has two kids who are sort of close in age to Bell and Spike and gave her a last second invitation to the New Paltz Bakery. I have discovered that getting out of the house sometime after Bell eats her second breakfast (don’t ask) has become pretty much necessary for my mental health. Unfortunately, since it was pissing rain this morning (a lovely state of weather that I don’t mind at all when I can lounge around in front of the fire with a good book and a cup of tea - but sheer torture when you have a two year old who needs to go outside) it was a matter of finding somewhere to meet which was both child friendly and not outdoors. Hence, The Bakery. And apparently, every other mother of a toddler in New Paltz had the same idea. It was mayhem in there – babies, babies everywhere. And at first I thought that maybe it would be over-stimulating to Bell – but she trucked on over to the make-believe child sized bakery and stood, glued to the side of the make believe sink, and watched all the other 2 year olds (all boys, strangely) hurl themselves around (and eventually bang on her fingers and clock her in the head with a wooden block) and fold themselves into the make believe cabinets and shove wooden bread and pizza at each other. I think she misses the brouhaha of her orphanage. I think she felt at home with all these kids and all the activity. And it was all I could do to shove some cream of cauliflower soup (I told you, this girl will eat anything) into her mouth now and again. She was really into the scene.

The moms there were perfectly nice, too. They were living The Life. The life I remember and recognize from when Spike was wee. Storytime at the library. Cookies and coffee and organic juice at the bakery. Hanging around until nap time, trying to get some adult conversation in with the other moms in between feeding the kids and breaking up fights and saving your trapped toddler who has wedged himself into the cabinet (true story) – not really wanting to go home because home is dusty and messy and there are a lot of old cheerios crunching underfoot and piles of laundry on every flat surface, and so many things to catch up on. And you know – it’s all worth it – and you do it – you live the life of interrupted conversation and not very good baked goods and lukewarm tea, of wiping snot with your bare hand, and never having a clean shirt on for more than ten minutes in the morning, and peeing with someone sitting on your lap – you do it because it’s worth the babies smiles and snuggles and giggles and the sweetness of their hot little breath against your neck as they sleep against your chest. You do it for them, of course – because nature programmed you to do it. And they are cute for a reason (we maybe would not do this for hairy, middle aged men with beer guts) and they bat their big eyes up at us and call us Mommy and we melt. So we do it. But when the nice mommy of the little boy who was kissing on Bell (and would later throw a block at her head) chatted me up and invited me to storytime – I just had an all over, total body response of “Nooooooooooooo!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” No. I don’t want to do story time. No. I don’t want to do playgroups. No. I don’t want to find my tribe of other mommies and wile away our afternoons sitting on the floor, ready to pry open a tiny hand from someone else’s tiny hank of hair. I did this all once. I lived The Life. I did it with true dedication with baby Spike. When it was still novel and new and I had just learned that moms need other moms and that mothering toddlers can be tedious and that I could drink unending cups of tea. And it’s not that I resent the actual parenting part of all this – I am doing just fine Mommying my daughter. She’s got a good, committed, knowledgeable and happy mother, who is there for her every squeak and giggle. I mean, I’m only writing this now because she’s right next to me asleep on the bed. It’s not the mother part that I feel resistant to. It’s not my closeness or commitment to her that gets under my skin and itches. It’s the way the mothering thing completely engulfed my persona last time. It’s the way that I didn’t get a word (except for journals, I guess) onto the page for about two years after Spike was born. It’s the way that I actively, and excitedly, searched out all these other moms – and we happily spun our days out of veggie booty and nursing bras and wading pools. I - and maybe this is the cry of the second time mother (because I could see this same sentiment in Ellen’s eyes – herself the mom of two) – just can’t see doing it that way again. And I loved it the first time. I was happy in my Mom-pod. And I totally signed up for a mommy and me music class just this morning! But this time I want to charge forward with less dedication to my identity as a mother and nothin’ but a mother – and find a way to work, too. To visit with my dear mom friends (and Molly – I’m talkin’ to you) and spend my afternoons watching the kids play – but somehow also manage to… I don’t know – stir things together better? Allow myself to be as much of a mom as I was to Spike (and seriously –I was MOM) and still find some way to not just be MOM? I don’t know. Maybe I’m wanting something impossible – to be a fully there mom and still find time for other things, too. But when you have a second child, not only has the novelty of mothering disappeared (though I suppose it returns in a different form because you are, after all, parenting a different child) but it’s impossible to be as completely engrossed by the situation. Just by the nature of already having one child – you can’t fall down the same rabbit hole that took you the first time. Spike still needs me – and he has a fully formed life that I can’t (and wouldn’t want to) ignore. There is necessarily less catering to this second child – more of a wish that she will just come along on the ride, instead of letting her drive the whole dang car.

And I suspect that it’s equally beautiful both ways. I suspect there are negatives and positives to both versions of babyhood. And I suspect that, although a few things will be different, a lot of things I did with Spike will carry over to what I do with Fang Fang. And I can already tell that this time will go even faster than my time with Spike did. And I know that I will blink my eyes and have a 14 year old son and an eight year old daughter and a thriving career and maybe not the biggest crowd of friends who have children the same age as Bell.

Because I don’t think I’m going to Storytime, okay? I think I will hold off on that.