I realized this morning that Mother's day is a couple of months away. Last year my first year as a mother, I was a mother in waiting. My thoughts on mothering were anticipatory in nature, not experiential. This year I have my babe in arms. Some of my thoughts this year on mothering have to do with how little I know about it. I have a lot of analytical knowledge about mothering, but I lack a legacy of mothering. My Mother was not raised by her mother.
My mother was raised by her father. Although I have knowledge of my maternal grandmother her mother knowledge and wisdom ( and unfortunately her lack there of) are not part of my story how to mother a child. You might not think this is a big deal. I bet you don't realize however how many experiences you have because your mother or your grandmother or your great-grandmother did something a certain way. I hear it in my mother-in-law's voice sometimes when she speaks with a finality on certain ways to care for a baby. It's the way it's always been done, the way she saw it done and the way she cared for her baby. On my mother's side I have very little knowledge of my grandmother or great-grandmother. I don't even have an item that belonged to this woman. The connection is broken. Such a sadness and yet it is my reality. For me, my story of mothering begins with my own mother. In some ways this is a blessing. I don't have to fight against years of tradition and the authority of older women in how I care for my child. As I being this journey of parenting though, it can feel very lonely. I have my mother to help me. Yet our shared story of mothering is pieced together from various women who invested what they were able in caring for my own mother. A mosaic, so to speak, of a mother. An image of what a mother could be. An image though lacks warmth, affection, emotion and comfort.
A good portion of my legacy of mothering comes from my father's side of the family. I think of babies and I hear lullabies that were sung by my aunt and my grandmother. I see the way I interact with children and I am reminded of my grandmother again and it makes me smile. Because I knew my grandmother and not my grandfather I see so much of her in my dad and aunt. Her influence and story lives on. On my bed is a quilt my grandmother made for me twenty some years ago, that my mother remade into a king size quilt. I don't know how to describe the difference in the story though. Yes, she is part of my story of mother, but there is a distance that I can't explain.
Since this is my experience now. I think of my children and grandchildren. In their stories they will have to deal with the way it's always been. Not realizing perhaps that the story of mothering they will receive is that of trial and error, tears and forgiveness and born out of an unending heart full of love. My son will hear of how his grandmother sat up with me at night while I struggled to cope with the after effects of delivery and attempt to get my body to provide nourishment for my son. These are the moments that will influence my children. These are the stories they will hear. I hope the connection created in these days provides the legacy of family, love and mothering that I desire. It is all I have and yet, it is enough.
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