Th e Ma m a s C l ub
It has been a terrible morning.
There have been multiple spills, siblings yelling
and hitting. Breakfast is still all over the table and
floor, and the living room.There is what feels like
a vortex of chaos at the very start of my morning.
It is loud. Grating. And difficult to remain patient
on so very little sleep.The strongest black coffee
that I can brew hasn’t made it into my cup yet.
The internal battle between the nurturing
unconditional Mama and the pregnant woman
who watches pandemonium unfold from
outside of her own body is already raging at this
early morning hour. I can feel myself unraveling. I
know I am going to yell. I know I have to contain
myself.
Pull it together. Breathe. Get the Coffee in the
Cup. Try to Connect. It’s hard to hear my own
pep talk in the midst of this maelstrom. My little
boy suddenly appears, smacks me in the belly
and runs away. The top pops off. I yell. A few
not very nice words. Everyone is tearful now
and loud. I just made my job that much harder.
And I feel terrible about myself. My auto-script
of negative self-talk is about to unfold:
I don’t know what I am doing. I will never get
this right. I am ruining them. Why can’t I just be
better at this? Why can’t I just be a different
person: a different Mom?
Instead I decide on a sincere apology. We sit
down in the hallway. Cry, talk, reconnect. Forgive.
After some reading time, play time, and a few
giggles, I open my email. An invite from new
friends to play in their sandbox this afternoon.
Although this invitation comes as a relief I debate
whether today is the right day for this venture.
14
These things can be hit or miss:
refereeing conflict between yet another child,
not sure of the exact right words to use this
time, trying not to sound like I am begging my
children to leave when we have worn out our
welcome, and that feeling of not measuring up
as I sit in another Mama’s pristine house with
perfectly organized toys and labeled shelves to
place them on.
These are exclusive clubs, you know, the “We
Are Mamas Clubs”. Membership requires similar
parenting tactics and/or principles, similarly
behaved children, children that actually like each
other, mothers that feel the same. And I am still
trying to find my tribe. But okay, we need to get
out and maybe it’s worth the risk.
I time it perfectly. The baby catches a quick nap
in her car seat while my boy plays with friends.
I sit on the stoop with my new friend watching
the kids play in the falling leaves.
“How’s your day going?” she asks.
“Uhh, terrible.” I can’t help but unload.
I tell her about this morning. I confess to yelling. I
tell her about my unrealistic expectations of my
children - of myself. I complain about all the little
inconveniences and big hormones of pregnancy.
She rubs my shoulder and that is enough to lift
some of the heaviness of the morning. How rare
it is to be mothered when you are a mother.
She says, “I remember when I was pregnant
with my second a friend reminded me of the
Goddess Kali. The mother goddess who is at