Why must our mothers be mothers and does that make me a must-be-mother?
I was listening to Erica Jong on the radio a few days ago. (She was being interviewed by Marty Moss-Coane on Radio Times.) As an aside, I wish Erica Jong didn’t annoy me so thoroughly because then I would find it easier to agree — or disagree — with her without wanting to slap her silly. I mean really — she discussed how she had anorexia before it became “popular.” Then she giggled and said, “I guess I do just about everything first, don’t I?” slap slap slap
That’s not why I’m blogging her up, though. She explained that while she read all her daughter’s books, her daughter (Molly Jong-Fast) had not read any of hers, that she had given up after four pages of Fear of Flying. Erica Jong thought that was to be expected. After all, I’m her mother, said Erica Jong (and you know I’m paraphrasing here), and no one wants to read their mother’s books. No one wants a writer for a mother. They just want a mother. My daughter doesn’t want me to be a writer, to be out there, to be having sex. No one wants that. She wants me to be Her Mother. Everyone wants that.
Yes, well, um. I wonder why, if Erica Jong is so fierce (and rightly so) about the right to choose, about equal pay, about feminism in general, why she so willingly surrenders her identity to be Mother to her daughter? Why does Motherhood so immediately eradicate our preceeding selves, our other selves? Why does it force so much of me (which I have spent years developing with only somewhat successful results) into hiding? I feel as if I, like other mothers, are being asked to live some double life — one life as potent, interesting, lively, sexual, individual adults with opinions, an ability NOT to make tea for anyone who comes to the door and a desire to spend half the day in bed reading cheap science fiction novels — and another life as sensibly dressed cooks and bottle washers, cheerful chauffeurs, homework checkers, floor sweepers, song singers, temper keepers, head patters and tea drinkers. This second life is our Motherhood while the other one is our selves, that we only let out every other weekend for three hours. We rarely let her have more than two drinks and she’s not late home because there’s a sitter. And we certainly don’t snog someone on a dare or get embroiled in arguments about Nietzche because we can no longer remember how to spell his name and keep falling asleep in the soup and wondering if we are somehow failing our children by not sitting at home folding underwear into neat little piles.
I get that people are icked out by the idea of their mother having sex, and perhaps writing is a little like ink sex, especially if you’re Erica Jong, but it seems like such a death sentence to me. By becoming a mother, both for my own children and also in the cultural category of Mother, I now have to be nurturing and cheerful and useful in the kitchen and with a roll of sticky-tape. I must not wear leather to breakfast or drink martinis with the mailman or I will end up, not a writer, but the subject of someone’s terrible confessional novel about how their mother let them down.
But WHY? I have thought about this and thought about this and I cannot really grasp why children are so skeeved at the thought of their mothers being people. I do not want to skeeve anyone, certainly not my children, but I do want a life. And I feel like children would benefit from their mothers’ having lives. Being people. It feels like it would set a good example.
This seems to war a bit with my desire to be present for them while they’re young — and so it does, but not entirely. When a baby is a baby, a friend of mine once explained, she sees her mother as a sort of surprisingly mobile extra limb, as a part of her rather than something separate. Learning that the mother is separate is a developmental milestone (known as “object permanence”). The baby realizes that although the mother disappears from sight, she is not gone, but just temporarily around the corner and will return. Interestingly, this realization coincides developmentally with the baby’s ability to laugh (which is a sublimated fear reaction). As children age, their capacity to see their mother as separate increases and as it does, I would like to appear to them as a more and more rounded human being, rather than as something flat and iconic. As a person.
I wish that I could see my mom as MORE of a person actually. She is a fabulous cook, she is very devoted, loyal and quite a Domestic Goddess. I wish though, that she had more interests. Went outside of her comfort zone sometimes, challenged herself more, etc.
Unlike the perspective of Erica Jong, I would love it if she wrote a book. I would gobble it up.
I was reading to Aidan last night after reading your post, and came across the description of the Hestia, Goddess of Hearth and Home.
Interestingly, one of the things it said was:
“Hestia was the sweetest, gentlest and most generous of all the Olympians. She never disagreed with anyone, and she never took sides in an argument. She was the goddess who protected the home and family…”
I was agonizing over this after I had my first child. My Dad said not to put myself aside and that the best thing I could do as a parent was to live my life and be myself. That this would be setting a good example for my children. It is very difficult but it eases my various feelings of guilt. It thrills me when they tell me I am a good painter and how I am so fast at making and fixing things (other than a yummy lunch).
Unfortunately, I have been described as a “breeder” and as very domestic since I chose to have children. As if I didn’t have life until I reproduced and was incapable of having a life so it is a good thing I am fertile. But the two people who said those things don’t know me very well. I also have rather soft round average features and a soft round average body type that seems to be stereotypically used for mothers in popular culture. I look the part. But I resent being typecast.
I am going to try this again. I think the wisest words I ever wrote just got deleted LOL! I have to read your blog again but I think that as kids we want and need the security of our mothers as perfect, as it were. It is almost intolerable to see them as otherwise (although most teenagers vicious rebel at this as they get older; perhaps because they see the more human side of us and that is so distressing to them). The developmental milestones kids go through cause such change for them and I think there is almost a rigidity in their not understanding that we too go through so many changes. I also think I struggle so much with the evolutions I go through as a human being and my twelve year old son just doesn’t always understand…and sometimes he understands more than I realize. Perhaps there is more conflict with the mother/daughter relationship? I really feel that kids see/experience us so differently than we see/experience ourselves and we are so much more and at the same time nothing more than mothers. Just my two cents worth.
The duplicity of being a woman.
Firstly, I think we should all laugh at your imagery of snogging the mailman in leather at breakfast while talking about that philosopher with the strange name.
Somehow, I never thought you capable of doing those things ANYWAY (well, not ALL of them), but perhaps being ‘bad’ becomes so much more thrilling when we have to be ‘mothers’. Not even ‘good’ mothers. Just mothers.
Also: This is a facet of parenting that a man will never experience or understand. That’s why (I believe) it poses such a problem…women have been articulating this issue for generations but there seems to be very little in UNDERSTANDING from the other side.
I think it is interesting that when Michael and I discuss child-bearing, he automatically says, “Well, you’ll stay home.” And I say, “Why?” and he says, “Because. Not only are you the nurturing type (true), but you make less money.” I hate it, but he’s got a good point. I wouldn’t WANT to work if I had a baby.
Women have always had to be stronger than men in this regard. We go from Maiden to Matron to Hag. That’s what we get. These are our choices, and when we try to mix them radically, we torture ourselves with “Shouldn’t I be doing something else right now?” Psychologically, we’re far more important to a child’s early development. This doesn’t nil out the importance of Dad, it just takes a second row to Moms. So, yeah, we’re kinda stuck.
The other day, when Mom and I went shopping for my wedding dress, we were discussing something about locker rooms and general nakedness. I expressed some grimace and Mom said, “Oh, yeah. Like you never get naked by the time Michael gets home.”
I blushed hard and she said, “I know. I’ve done it, too. Not enough, I don’t think, but I’ve been there, too.”
You know, it really didn’t bother me so much. Because after all, my Mom had to be a sexual creature. Otherwise, I’d not be here to say ‘Thanks’.
Good writing, once again, Stuntmother. I don’t know if this did anything for you, but it certainly did lots for me.
A lovely and accurate post.
Well said.
I, too, would often like to slap Erica Jong silly because I feel she can be smug and self-righteous. Very interesting points re: the relinquishment of the identity because of motherhood. I hope I am/to be the whole person that you describe–a fierce but flawed individual, who happens to be a mother as well as many other things.
Thank you for this.
Poor Erica Jong. My two teenagers read (and gave me fantastic critiques and tips on) the novel I finished in January. Granted, it was an “adolescent” novel – so it was geared towards them – but they didn’t have to read it. They wanted to. They also supported me finishing my degree, instead of whining when I missed doing things for them because I had to study. They understand me to be a separate being with my own life and my own personal goals (thank God – I think I’d lose my mind otherwise). I’m glad to say Erica Jong may be right about her daughter, but she’s not right about mine.
I think sometimes it’s just plain jealousy. If you have a life, they have less of you. Also, at a certain age, children just want to fit in. They want the normal mom (defined as whatever is the majority where they live. Mine live in fear that I will embarass them. I won’t change who I am for them but, I will tone it down in public. Sadly, I spent nine of the past ten years as martyr mom. When I finally came out of my coma and did things for me my children were in awe. It doesn’t have to be a big thing, just anything. For the first time my kids saw me as a person and I liked it.