The voices in my head.

I have no one else to blame for my sudden stiltedness, my awkward flamingo steps...

Awkwardness continues.

Can I tell you about this morning? I woke up to J and the Sprog, sidled into bed next to me. When I reached out to rub the side of my boy-o's tummy, he smacked my hand and turned away.

Now, I realize full well that my son only has a small range of motions in his arsenal, and the spasmodic arm-slap is one of the go-to gestures. And there are any number of reasons my baby might have turned away at that moment-- some sunlight on the wall, a sound, a simple desire to change position, a momentary feeling of overstimulation...

But this squishy little part of my mind decided My baby hates me.

Ugh! No. He doesn't. And what a nasty load of guilt to dump on my child some day if I keep thinking like that. Unfortunately, there's no such thing as mind control-- not even over my own. So that little spot of quicksand sucks down more ugly thoughts: I went through so much physically to have him. I'm the one with the stretch marks and the flop sweat. I'm the one whose shoes don't fit. I'm the one reading up on products and theories and pediatricians and practices and teaching J what I learned. My baby should like me the best! Even better than he likes my husband.

You don't need to tell me how wrongheaded this is, on so many counts. That's my point-- I know. Being a mother is about loving your children and taking care of them. It is NOT about them doing that for you. My son is his own person, with his own emotions and opinions. He doesn't owe me pride of place in his psyche. And I hate, hate, hate the part of me that sometimes wants that anyway.

Keep it up, roo, and you'll get that place in his psyche-- just like a mother in an Alfred Hitchcock film.

This is not to say I feel this struggle all the time-- just now and then, when my guards are down.

But it ties into a similarly squishy problem I've been having writing here. Because I want everyone to like me. As if that were even possible. As if more than twelve people actually read this blog on a regular basis.

I'm having a hard time writing my mind. My self-censor is getting pushier and more comprehensive, because just about anything I might write about that's true is bound to be offensive to someone.

1. I'm an atheist. Being an atheist is an important part of my identity. I struggled thoughtfully for the first two-thirds of my life to figure out my relationship with God, and I've chosen to do without. I think I'm a better person for choosing to do without.

But I don't think that my journey towards this philosophy or lack thereof is so conclusive that I don't realize there are different, valid paths to better personhood-- to enlightenment, even. Still, while I have a lot to write on this subject, I hold back, for fear that readers who have a different relationship with religion might feel judged or excluded. And I don't want that.

2. We decided not to circumcise our son, and I'd like to write about that decision process. But it's difficult to find a more controversial subject in all of the Interwebs, and I think that many people, for and against, who write about it or comment about it are so totalitarian in their approach, so judgmental, so mean-spirited sometimes towards those who see things differently, that I'm hesitant to enter the fray.

3. In a similar vein, I've had some more thoughts about breastfeeding or the lack thereof, and... well, my emotions might be too close to the surface on that one even for me. But part of me thinks that's why my...testimony? something to that effect, could be a useful addition to the discussion. But then I worry that no one could hear civil and thoughtful discourse over all the shouting.

4. I'm crazy. Is it all right for me to call myself crazy? Wait, haven't I earned the right to call myself crazy if I want to? Well, do I want to? I sure don't like it when other people call me crazy-- even if they don't know I really am crazy. If I write about being crazy, people might know I'm crazy, and then they'll think I'm crazy instead of just crazy.

And... discuss.

5. I'm a feminist. But am I one of those feminists? What does that even mean? Can I call myself feminist if... (and so forth.)

6. I'm fat. No, I'm not really fat. Can I use that word? Is it a bad word? Is it a bad word if I'm only using it to talk about myself? What if it is? What should I do about it, if anything, and why?

7. I sometimes use stereotypes. And I sometimes use words that aren't acceptable in certain circles. Which ones, and why? Is this eeevil, like the fruuuits of the dayvil? Is it acceptable to quote Mike Myers in 2011?

So many questions.

8. I'm a new mother. If I write about parenting, will that turn off/bore/sadden those who are not parents? If I don't write about parenting, will I miss an important chance to connect with other readers who are parents? Will everything beyond cute pictures of my kid open me up for criticism and judgement?

Hey! Why are you posting cute pictures of your kid on the Internet? He didn't consent to that! And don't you know about evil Internet people who will want to make him into soup? Or... worse???

Okay, I'm going to stop now. You get the gist.

So these are all examples of the type of thing I'd like to be writing about, but can't, because my brain's full of quicksand and is also tied up with rope, and let's toss in some more metaphors, with horses and creeks that are pronounced like cricks.

I'd like to address this situation.

But then, finding time to write anything worthwhile is difficult with an infant (so let's hear it for Shirley Jackson, eh?) Particularly because even when I get the kidlet down for a nap, by the time my writing mind's really whirring again, he's woken back up.

In the meantime, I'm going to work on having courage in my convictions, and trust that the worthwhile folks will still be here when the dust settles.

Or I'll just post more cute photos of my kid. Because it's my job as his mother to provide his someday teenage self with plenty of sources of wholesome embarrassment. And it pleases me.

Oh, and it might not hurt to re-read this once in a while. Clearly, I need the reminder.

Comments

[Kathi]

Oh do I understand the torment when it comes to writing on the blog. There are so many things that I would love to write about, but I hold back. Mainly because I know it would offend some people I care for. Part of me thinks I shouldn't let it bother me about what people will think. And, I'm not as much of a people pleaser as I was as a child. However, I find that I do want to be sensitive to people and so I choose to hold my tongue...or fingers.

I think we truly experienced what it's like for a child to "hate" their parent. My daughter used to melt into tears if she did something that she knew upset us. Now that she's 14, she's strong as a tree. When we told her the other day that we would not take her to get gauges in her ears she couldn't understand why. Then we became the meanest parents in the world. She never came out and said, "I hate you!" (which I was expecting), but her actions sure showed it.

She's a good kid. I know she wants to be independent. She thinks it's ok to do whatever she wants/likes at the moment without thinking about how it will affect her 10 years from now. I get that. She's a teenager. It still hurt when she treated me as though she hated me.

We've since moved on, but I know it won't be the last time.

[roo]

Kathi, thanks for commiserating-- it does help to know others understand some of my bad thought spirals.

Incidentally, J and I have just been talking through hypothetical body modification discussions when the sprog is older. It's tricky, because basically we don't want him to do anything permanent before he's an adult (because we know our tastes have changed a lot since our teen years, and we assume his will too.) But then, I wouldn't want him sneaking off to some shady tattoo parlor that doesn't use clean needles, or...

Yes. Tricky stuff. And harder when your kids seem to hate you for it.

Hang in there, Kathi. And I for one would love to read what you're not writing.

[Jean]

Make that thirteen regular readers--I've been lurking about for a year or so. Just to put your mind at ease--I'm a 64 year old childless woman who finds your posts on parenting very interesting.

And I love your pictures. In fact, I almost delurked a couple of posts ago to tell you that 1. You are beautiful, 2. your son is adorable, and 3. you take beautiful pictures.

On the one hand, I'd like to encourage you to write about whatever you please. I for one can't imagine myself finding any posts on any of the subjects you mention offensive in any way. On the other hand, there are a lot of people out there who have no filters when it comes to responding to what others say on the internet, and are very angry people, and will very possibly say hurtful things in response to almost anything that can be seen as controversial. I'm not sure why that is, but it sure seems to be true. So, I can sure understand your holding back on that count. Who needs that sort of thing in their life? (One way to deal with these kinds of comments is to just delete them when they appear. I wrote a blog for a couple of years, and got a few such comments--not many, because I really did have only about 12 readers--but sometimes a "stranger" would happen along and get nasty. Since engaging with them I found only called forth more nastiness, I learned to just delete the comment and not reply, and they pretty much never came back.)

On the other other hand, I don't think you need to hold back out of concern for offending others. I strongly suspect that you can write about pretty much anything in an open and respectful manner, so that anyone who takes offense is essentially choosing to see offense where none is there.

So, write away however is comfortable for you. I for one will read whatever you post with interest.

[roo]

Jean, thank you so much for de-lurking! I'm touched by what you've written. I've been trying to think of a better way of conveying just how much, but words fail.

I will take your advice, though. And I'll think of this comment when I'm quailing and need a boost of courage.

[jayne]

roo, I will read anything you write and not judge or become offended or do anything other than be glad you are writing. Period. I find I have topics that I avoid entirely on my own blog, mainly because I have family members who read and I don't want to upset them. So I stay quiet. Because there's enough drama already sometimes.

And with kids, I think there's always that dance of love and guilt and fear and worry and delight and every other place your brain can go. I have days when I KNOW my kids have way more fun with Daddy than with me...I hear myself sometimes and it seems like all that comes out of my mouth are the cautionary things - don't do this, you'll break your nose, don't do that you might fall and crack your head, please stop jumping on the couch, this isn't the playground. I'm so UN fun. And daddy will teach them the fun things, like how to chop wood or build a fire or gut a fish. That's how I think about it all sometimes. But I know I matter, I know I'm important. And I also know that whenever they're sick or bleeding or upset (or hungry), I'm the one they call for. And I also know, if I really think about it with intelligence instead of skewed emotion, I am the fun parent at times, too, and Daddy sometimes isn't. I just don't always remember to remind myself of this.

I think it all balances out eventually.

And I think you are a fantastic mother, you take beautiful pictures of your beautiful son, and I don't care if you're an atheist, because I don't think believing (or saying you believe) in a deity makes a person good. It's what you do, how you treat people...all that stuff is the important stuff. Everything else is just a label. A name tag at a party.

All that to reiterate - I'm here. Write whatever you want. It's your blog. And you have lots to say that's worth saying.

[roo]

Thank you, jayne.

And all of you-- you make me feel very lucky!