After spending 2 years living on the rugged coast of Northeastern Scotland, a job now takes us to Fairbanks Alaska. Originally from Oregon, I am a writer, a mother, an aspiring frontier woman, a nostalgia junkie, and a book addict. I call myself a trailer wife, which refers to the state of a person (most often a woman) who is caught up in the professional trajectory of their spouse. This blog will chronicle my journey between two places I never, ever, imagined I'd call home.
So, this is the part of the program where the dormant, buried-under-the-surface bitterness behind "trailer wife" rears its niggly head. Under normal circumstances, I gratefully, even gracefully, accept the circumstances of my life. After-all, it is pretty good: successful, supportive partner, rosy-cheeked tot, no creditors on our tail, 600 thread-count sheets... blah blah blah. In fact, when I'm feeling discontent, it is almost immediately blotted out with guilt for having the gall to want more when I've already been given so much.
I know that this won't come as a surprise to anyone, but motherhood is hard. HARD. I'm not sure what I expected... surely that any Child of Mine would be too well adjusted and above average to pose any real inconvenience. Oh man. And though I would lay waste to anyone or anything that came between Gus and happiness, and I love him with an intensity that is violent and bone-deep, I'm going to say it: I (sometimes) miss my old life. I miss my old body, the hours upon hours of aimless freedom, the afternoon meanderings through used bookstores, smoking cigarettes on porch steps, the gourmet recipe exploration with half a bottle of wine... I miss it. I have kept the door to this old life ajar for the last eleven months, peeking in every once in a while when I had a few moments to spare. But with this epic move and a new routine that is focused squarely on Mr. VanClammyhands, I realize now that I must shut the door. I might need to dismantle the door and put it through a wood chipper.
The 14 year old inside of me laments how patently unfair this is.
Maybe unfair, but necessary. And isn't that so often the conclusion women come to? Yeah yeah yeah, I know that being male puts you in a whole other pressure cooker, but seriously - when you think about the sacrifices and choices women are asked to make, it's a little uneven. As a woman, it is virtually impossible to be wildly successful at both your career AND motherhood. It seems to me, one must be sacrificed to the other. And even when you've planned everything out, waited for the ideal time to conceive, scheduled your (unpaid) maternity leave, lined up the best, most qualified nanny out there, you still feel like an asshole at the end of the day. Or if, like me, you decide that "there is no perfect time," and grad school can wait one more year, you end up feeling secretly resentful.
It's not fair.
That's usually where the soothing platitudes of Dennis Leary drifts in - "life sucks, get a fucking helmet." And, under normal circumstances, that's enough to get me back on track. But here I am, in the fricking arctic, blind with jealousy over my partner's sleek new "I've arrived," grown up University office, too crippled with fatigue to change out of the yoga pants that have become my daily uniform, finding no comfort in the prospect of mommy-and-me play groups full of mommies making friends, and a stack of magazine imploring me to, "say goodbye to that last ten pounds," and, "fire up the frill!" Groan.
Maybe I'm more selfish than most. Or more independent. In any case, I can't go along with the apron-clad masses. And I find, suddenly, that I'm okay with that. Moving to frontierland has been, for me, an amazing opportunity to leave the white picket fence behind. Part of what makes the decision between motherhood and a career so difficult is the encyclopedia of expectations, hard-wired in infancy, that says unless your ambition is omnivorous, you're not trying hard enough.
So, perhaps this won't mean anything to anyone, maybe you stopped reading at the absurdly long title of this post. But I'm going to get a full sleeve tattoo, cancel my subscription to Perfectly Pretty Parenting, and break into the 15 year old Single Malt I've been saving to impress my future dinner party guests. I'm not going to apologize for being the only person in the room without a higher degree. I will be loudly political and quietly homespun. The novel I'm writing will be as dark and dirty as it needs to be, without concern for who might someday (oh if wishing made it so) read it and object. I may even get a job in the seediest bar I can find and occasionally cuss in public. Because as far as I can tell, Gus has a much better shot at a good life is he's surrounded by people who know, and like, who they are.
I'm going off the grid. And I'm taking the kid with me.
3 comments:
love it, you have captured mother in one blog, thank you, love you, miss you
I love it!
And as i haven't crossed the threshold that is motherhood just yet, I know I will feel exactly the same way. There's no law that says you have to be a typical browning-making-minivan-driving-soccer-mom. Be who you are. And yes, Gus will definitely be better off for it!
And just because you don't have an "advanced" degree yet, doesn't mean it isn't on the horizon for you someday.
One quote that i've always enjoyed...
"You CAN have it all. Its just not always at the same time."
Wow! You certainly did capture those dark days of early motherhood very well. It was almost painful to read because it brought back all of the guilt I used to experience for feeling those exact same things. I remember sometimes thinking of plowing into a snowbank or crashing into a tree back then. I was in no way suicidal, but I so desperately wanted to experience something new and have a short vacation from it all, even if it meant a short stay in Providence Hospital.
I now have a teenager and the tables have turned. I find that I am desperately clinging to motherhood and wanting to relive all of those moments with her that I was too stressed out to enjoy when she was a toddler. She, of course, humors me but is ready to move on. *sigh*
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