The Incredible Loudness of Motherhood
Recently I read something online that resonated with me. Since I didn’t share it in my facebook feed, or pin it to pinterest, or email it to myself – my three primary modes of organization these days – I can’t find it again*. So I’m going to paraphrase it for you, badly, no doubt:
Two moms are sitting near each other at a park or a playground or some place where kids gather, and so too do moms. They’re both watching the kids play. Mother 1 has a sleeping infant, and she says to Mother 2, “They’re so loud, aren’t they? Even when they’re sleeping.”
See, Mother 1 was new to this whole motherhood thing – at least the way I pictured it in my head, anyway. And she was discovering what I have discovered. Motherhood is very loud.
Literally, it’s crying babies and whining toddlers and husbands telling you to see the bright side and your own edgy voice saying again and again “If I have to tell you one more time…” and “Let it go, this too shall pass” and “Hold on tight, this too shall pass.”
You’re always on, it’s always go time. Three a.m. and you’re awoken by crying over the monitor (while your husband snores blissfully), and you’re up to sit with him. Date night with your husband and you get a call from grandpa because he fell and hit his head. (The toddler, not grandpa. Although if grandpa fell and hit his head, we’d probably like a call about that, too. Remember the old man who bumped his head on the foot of his bed and won’t wake up ‘til morning? Somebody should sit with him and make sure he doesn’t have a concussion.)
The good thing about literal noise is that it eventually stops. It might be 10 p.m. and several shots of rum later, but it does stop. And then – a few moments of sweet, sweet silence.
Figuratively, it’s roaring almost always. It’s not like an office you can shut the door to, or an email you can close, or a phone you can silence. It’s there all the time. When they’re awake, asleep, playing, eating, even when they’re at grandma’s, it’s talking to you. It’s your mother’s voice asking, “Are you taking care of yourself?”, that magazine article you read claiming “10 Ways to Own Your Happiness,” your own conscience nagging “Are you sure you’re doing that right?”, your friend seeming to have it all under control, that stranger glaring as your kid kicks and wails while you carry him out of Cracker Barrel because, no, he cannot run to the back of the dining room and hide under someone’s table while they’re eating. It’s a constant conversation in your head of “Is that a laugh or a cry? Maybe he’s wet… When did I change him last – for that matter, when did he poop last? Does his poop seem too loose? Maybe I should give him more bread and fewer strawberries. Should I be letting him throw that ball in the house? What if in six years he’s still throwing balls in the house, only now they’re baseballs, and he breaks something important, and I have to break his arm? Is he old enough for time-outs yet? Maybe I should be doing time-outs. Maybe I need to have him stand with his nose in the corner. But that would require an empty corner, and I don’t have any empty corner in this house. Or an empty spot on the floor. And the floor is covered in dog hair. It’s always covered in dog hair – why aren’t those damn dogs bald yet? I should vacuum the carpet tomorrow. I said that yesterday, too.” This is the loud that you can’t turn down. This is the loud I think Mother 1 was talking about.
I wasn’t prepared for that loud; I never saw it coming. It was a slap in the face those first few months of new parenthood. And apparently it’s not just for new mothers -- my loud is still there; only the dialog changes. Maybe that’s why my mother seemed so tired all the time – so much loud. Years of it. I’d be tired, too. Hell, I’m tired already.
Some people who have a constant inner dialog get a tv show. (Scrubs, anyone?) Some people hear voices and get institutionalized. (Bettie Page.) Some people hear loud all the time and just go on being mom.
*I have seriously spent ALL DAMN DAY googling every which way I can to try to find the source of this nugget of knowledge stuck in my teeth. I have failed miserably, which is pretty impressive because I am frighteningly talented when it comes to ferreting out information on the internet. I think it was a mom blog, so, you know, that narrows it down to about a million sites. You’re welcome for my accuracy.
Two moms are sitting near each other at a park or a playground or some place where kids gather, and so too do moms. They’re both watching the kids play. Mother 1 has a sleeping infant, and she says to Mother 2, “They’re so loud, aren’t they? Even when they’re sleeping.”
See, Mother 1 was new to this whole motherhood thing – at least the way I pictured it in my head, anyway. And she was discovering what I have discovered. Motherhood is very loud.
Literally, it’s crying babies and whining toddlers and husbands telling you to see the bright side and your own edgy voice saying again and again “If I have to tell you one more time…” and “Let it go, this too shall pass” and “Hold on tight, this too shall pass.”
You’re always on, it’s always go time. Three a.m. and you’re awoken by crying over the monitor (while your husband snores blissfully), and you’re up to sit with him. Date night with your husband and you get a call from grandpa because he fell and hit his head. (The toddler, not grandpa. Although if grandpa fell and hit his head, we’d probably like a call about that, too. Remember the old man who bumped his head on the foot of his bed and won’t wake up ‘til morning? Somebody should sit with him and make sure he doesn’t have a concussion.)
The good thing about literal noise is that it eventually stops. It might be 10 p.m. and several shots of rum later, but it does stop. And then – a few moments of sweet, sweet silence.
Figuratively, it’s roaring almost always. It’s not like an office you can shut the door to, or an email you can close, or a phone you can silence. It’s there all the time. When they’re awake, asleep, playing, eating, even when they’re at grandma’s, it’s talking to you. It’s your mother’s voice asking, “Are you taking care of yourself?”, that magazine article you read claiming “10 Ways to Own Your Happiness,” your own conscience nagging “Are you sure you’re doing that right?”, your friend seeming to have it all under control, that stranger glaring as your kid kicks and wails while you carry him out of Cracker Barrel because, no, he cannot run to the back of the dining room and hide under someone’s table while they’re eating. It’s a constant conversation in your head of “Is that a laugh or a cry? Maybe he’s wet… When did I change him last – for that matter, when did he poop last? Does his poop seem too loose? Maybe I should give him more bread and fewer strawberries. Should I be letting him throw that ball in the house? What if in six years he’s still throwing balls in the house, only now they’re baseballs, and he breaks something important, and I have to break his arm? Is he old enough for time-outs yet? Maybe I should be doing time-outs. Maybe I need to have him stand with his nose in the corner. But that would require an empty corner, and I don’t have any empty corner in this house. Or an empty spot on the floor. And the floor is covered in dog hair. It’s always covered in dog hair – why aren’t those damn dogs bald yet? I should vacuum the carpet tomorrow. I said that yesterday, too.” This is the loud that you can’t turn down. This is the loud I think Mother 1 was talking about.
I wasn’t prepared for that loud; I never saw it coming. It was a slap in the face those first few months of new parenthood. And apparently it’s not just for new mothers -- my loud is still there; only the dialog changes. Maybe that’s why my mother seemed so tired all the time – so much loud. Years of it. I’d be tired, too. Hell, I’m tired already.
Some people who have a constant inner dialog get a tv show. (Scrubs, anyone?) Some people hear voices and get institutionalized. (Bettie Page.) Some people hear loud all the time and just go on being mom.
*I have seriously spent ALL DAMN DAY googling every which way I can to try to find the source of this nugget of knowledge stuck in my teeth. I have failed miserably, which is pretty impressive because I am frighteningly talented when it comes to ferreting out information on the internet. I think it was a mom blog, so, you know, that narrows it down to about a million sites. You’re welcome for my accuracy.
Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close. Ain't kids great? :-D
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