One woman's perspective of (twin) parenting (and other thoughts about things)
I’m sitting in bed at 9pm sipping a lemsip, at the end of Week 1 of our First Big Cold (Please Lord, let there not be a full Week 2). COVID has meant a very sterile start to life for the Smols, so I fear our next few months will be somewhat perma-cold-y. YAY.
Anyway, I thought this would be the perfect time to write about my mum, because if there’s ever a time when a person needs their mum, or at least somebody that fulfils that role, it’s when they are poorly.
A week or two ago, I had a Really Bad Day. I found myself walking the Smols with tears streaming down my face and all I could think was how I wanted my mum.
This is problematic, for two main reasons.
Firstly, my mum and I always had a slightly strained relationship - despite her best efforts (and boy, did she try), we never had that classic “mother daughter bond” that everybody seems to think happens automatically by virtue of being a woman borne of a woman.
Secondly, and perhaps the larger barrier of the two, she’s been dead for two years.
Due to point one above, I am not experiencing grief in the way that is expected (demanded?) of me. My primary reaction to her death was (and remains) relief. Our relationship, and the ones she had with other family members, were at times highly toxic. That said, we did manage to make it work much better in the last few years of her life, and there were even times during that period where she was the first person I called for advice or comfort. Which never ceased to amaze me. Nor her I imagine.
There was a tiny, COVID-safe funeral (a huge relief, to be honest, as I wasn’t forced to be a performative version of “grieving daughter” for the sake of people who only knew her fleetingly), at which I gave a eulogy that was full of honesty, but also peace and love (“and josticks!”, she’d interject here - NB there were not josticks). In the weeks that followed, I tied up all the stuff to do with her estate (I am an only child), had many conversations with people who told me how distraught I must be to lose my mum so young (she was 69), and then got on with life (growing twins, it turns out - I was 10 weeks pregnant at her funeral). Occasionally I cried a bit, but I was genuinely fine with it. People rushed to tell me that “it just hadn’t hit me yet”. I smiled and nodded.
A few months later, I became a mum. A few months after that, I realised that I actually quite missed her. This wasn’t a delayed grief, as such, just an acknowledgement that my life was different now and in some ways it would be nice if she were here to experience it with me.
Turns out this is another example of Mary Schmich’s ever-relevant Chicago Tribune column being spot on:
“…the older you get, the more you need the people who knew you when you were young.”
(NB you may know this from Baz Luhrmann’s “Everybody’s Free (To Wear Sunscreen)”, which is how I first came across it also, but you know, turns out a woman wrote it and a man got all the credit, so…)
Aside from this emotional revelation, a lot of things about our relationship (and her in general) started to fall into place.
I understand now, for example, why she never stopped asking me if the fingers on my left hand ever bothered me. As far as I understand it, she’d left 2 year old me alone in a connected room whilst she made a cup of coffee and in that time, I managed to upend a table and nearly chop my fingers off. I did not get why she was so obsessed with asking me about it. Now I do. I’m not sure I’d ever forgive myself if the same happened to one of the Smols. I’m certain now that she never forgave herself either.
I also get the worry-that-never-goes-away. I think I will probably write more about this another time, but in my opinion, very little of what we perceive to be gendered parental experiences are as simple as that. However, one thing I do think is rock solid is that if you grow humans inside you, and you subsequently raise those humans, you are going to worry about them on a deeper, more primal level than anybody else. I did not get this - I felt utterly smothered by it to be honest (note to self), but I get it now.
There are, and continue to be, many more examples of this kind of thing, which sometimes just hit me out of the blue. Each one makes me understand her more, and therefore softens the edges of what I remember to be our relationship. I like this.
Incidentally, I am genuinely sad for her that she never got to hear me say all this. I think it was probably really important to her that she knew that I knew (Jerry Springer earworm - specifically from 02:15 - you’re welcome) what she’d been going on about this whole time.
Of course, she’d then probably feel that all the Less Ideal stuff that went with it was fully justified as well, so you know, swings and roundabouts.
But back to this walk. I wanted my mum (or some version of her that may not actually have existed) because I’m missing a pillar. I have my husband, I have my closest friends, I have my NCT pals, I have my actually-definitely-an-angel next door neighbour (now dear friend) who is a surrogate grandmother to the Smols and keeps me going with fellowship and cake. But none of these people fulfil the role of My Mum. You know, that role that new mums have on call from Day One - you kind of don’t want her banging down the door the second you get home from hospital, but actually secretly you’re pleased she’s there because you’re feeling pretty crap and (oh, full circle) you just want your mum.
I want to be able to ask her what she did when xyz happened because I am the living embodiment of what happens when you make that decision (yes, yes, I know it’s more complicated than that, but any port in a storm et c.). Did I go through phases of being a fussy eater? If so, it doesn’t seem to have done me any harm. Did I go through a stage of waking up horrendously early all the time? If so, when did I learn that sleep was actually really awesome (because I truly know that, now more than ever)? Did you check that I was breathing before you went to sleep every night as well? How much calpol did you get through when I had a cold? How often did you scream obscenities in my face because I wasn’t letting you change my nappy? When did it get easier? Does it get easier?
Plenty of these questions have been answered by every mum I know.
Just not my mum.
Being a mum is hard. I don’t know if I’d be finding it easier overall if my mum were still with us (I suspect not, actually) but sometimes I really miss her. And I think that’s a good thing.
xx