Yesterday a friend sent me a copy of Jane Caro’s article in the Sydney Morning Herald, an edited extract from Between Us: Women of Letters, edited by Marieke Hardy and Michaela McGuire. I can only assume that this extract was chosen because it’s a little controversial and it would get people talking. Well at least I hope so, in fact I hope it’s controversial at all and not just to me (although I doubt it because my friend emailed me with just one sentencing saying “I’m glad she’s not my mum”)
Caro says in an article aptly entitled, Jane Caro on why she is irritated by the young
No doubt my jaundiced view reflects my recent escape from the gilded prison that is mothering. I love my daughters. I find them endlessly fascinating. (I suspect, however, that to those who did not bear them, they hold less interest. I still often have to feign attention when others talk about their children. I do so, of course, so I can then talk about mine while they pretend to be interested.) But I have been a mother for 26 years. Mothering is something I am proud to have done, but I am over it. My daughters are decent, independent, contributing members of society but, whatever happens, I claim neither credit nor accept any blame. It’s their life now. If they need me, I will help them, but I quietly hope they won’t need me very often.
Before I go on let me make it clear, I am not judging Jane Caro’s brand of motherhood I am just commenting on how diametrically opposed my own idea of motherhood is to hers. In fact in lots of ways I have heard Jane speak on parenting you could say that we don’t agree on much but that doesn’t make her a better or worse mother than me (although I am quite sure she would not want herself being defined by her parenting skills in any way shape or form).
To me motherhood doesn’t end. Of course it changes as the needs of your child change but it doesn’t just go away. You don’t stop being a mother because your children hit a certain age.
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I am perplexed by the idea of motherhood being something you have to get through or some part of your journey that has a limited shelf life and you can just neatly pack away when your children turn 18. For most of us motherhood is a choice and one which we should make with our eyes open – yes, being a mother does mean a lot is going to change in your life – work is going to be harder, your social life is going to look different and even your body is going to change. It’s part of becoming a parent – you sort of mould with the arrival of your child and you continue to evolve and change shape as your children grow up and their needs change – because they are dependent on you for a while. It’s a given – you should possibly know that before you have children.
To say that our children are just one part of our lives is true and correct but they are a major part. A huge part, an intensely important part that we can’t just choose to ignore or not pay attention to because they are kids. And when they grow up they are still our children, albeit older. I would no more dismiss my own sisters or parents as having outgrown their “usefulness” than lose interest in being part of my child’s life because he is an adult. We are family. We stick together.
I consider being a mother to be a blessing rather than a chore but some days it is hideously hard. Some days it’s suffocating and it’s claustrophobic and minutes seem like hours and hours seem like years. But I chose it, I am the one who fought to conceive and carry a pregnancy through, I am the one who gets the joy and the love, the happiness and the pride and sometimes I get the drudgery and the tedium. But I wouldn’t have it any other way and I can’t see this love I feel expiring at a certain date in the future.
What do you think? Do you still need your mum? Can you imagine not being around for your own children?
