Over the weekend I spent some time with an old friend who I hadn't seen since the boys were born.
It was... uncomfortable. This confident, powerhouse, working woman made me feel like total crap. While we talked in her home, I was constantly chasing babies away from doorways, book cases and outlets. My hair was pulled. I was distracted during our conversation. I was being pulled on, sat on, climbed on. I had soggy graham crackers smeared into a cement and on to my clothes. I had to constant repeat "No thank you, Micah. Grey doesn't want you to touch him. You need to be soft with your brother."
And these are all things that I'm used to.
No biggie. I have nine month old twin boys. It comes with the territory.
And yet as we talked (or she talked, and I chased babies) I could see her visibly losing respect for me. She had this pretentious, scornful look etched around her mouth and eyebrows.
And it hurt me.
I love being a mom. I am so, so grateful that I have twin boys and that I get to stay home with them all day every day. I do not regret - even the tiniest sliver of a bit- that I got pregnant and dropped out of college.
It was right, and I am happy.
And yet I spent the whole time we were with her feeling defensive and upset. By the tenth time that I picked up Micah and carried him away from the pile of papers that he wanted to rip up and eat, she had this raised-eyebrow look of horror. I don't know exactly what it meant, but I'm pretty sure it was some combo of "You're not even a grown-up anymore, you're an animal handler" and "Can't you control your rowdy children?" with just a dash of pity.
It pissed me off! "DO NOT PITY MY LIFE!" I wanted to scream at her. "My life is awesome!"
It was really frustrating. I've been lucky to have a lot of support from my friends and family when it comes to these babies, and since we live in Provo (Mormon central) there are rarely questions asked when people see a 22 year old with two kids.
I've never been asked if I'm the nanny. Everybody here has kids young, so it's the norm. With the exception of one mean professor -who would say things to me like "What will you do when your husband dies and you don't have a degree?" every time I called in with morning sickness and said I wasn't coming to class- even my professors were really understanding and helpful when I was going to class pregnant-like.
So this encounter was my first real experience with ... I don't even know what it was. Dislike of my children? No. That's pretty much impossible. Dislike of me, maybe. Disapproval of my life choices. Disrespect for what I'm doing, which -not to brag or anything- is the most important thing to do in the world. The hardest job in the world. The longest hours, the biggest emotional strain, the most pressing, heartbreaking and wonderful job in the world.
And someone looked at me and didn't think that it was good enough. They thought I should be better than this.
More than this.
I can't stop thinking about it. It really cut me to the core.
I don't know. I'm mostly babbling. It's just really nice to have a community of people and readers and blog writers who know what motherhood is all about.
I love you guys. Thanks for stopping by and not judging me.