Mamarage

I’m friendly. I apologize excessively and I do not often lose my temper. As a matter of fact, if a stranger were to knock me down, and then take off, I’d likely murmur, “uh, sorry, I must have been standing in your path, uh, can I help?” I am that courteous. Confronting an unknown individual (i.e. the total stranger) is definitely something I avoid if at all possible. I grudgingly accept my short change and cold food, because for me, the option of confrontation is much more bothersome. At the end of my exceptionally difficult days out there in the world, my partner will listen quietly while I complain about the incompetent people operating motor vehicles, or the imbeciles pouring coffee, or the jerks cashing cheques. I accept my complacent ‘tude as a personal shortcoming. I know I should be more forthcoming, more assertive and independent but honestly, it’s too much trouble. Still, I am a human female, a mother in fact, and some things truly irritate me.

Of late, I have been subjected to an array of inquisitions regarding my position. You may wonder, perhaps, to which position I speak. I myself am not certain but it appears that my position in this life, on this here planet is what people seek. Encoded as pleasant queries about my career or career aspirations are the sentiments: who are you and why would I want to know you? What do you have that I could use? Are you a bridge worth building? Who do you know? These questions come from strangers or well-meaning neighbours or professionals with whom I share administrative relationships (government employees, doctors, librarians). Certainly it must be an enormous form of stress: not being able to place people neatly in their respective boxes. My replies vary depending on my state of my mind. Typically, I make up something acceptable and change the topic. Ordinarily, I politely dismiss myself as just another boring person living a regular existence, behaving predictably and smiling on cue. Well, enough already! I am here to reveal myself. My position, my true position on the earth is about to come to light. But we all know the truth is a scary and icky proposition and no one really wants to deal.

OCCUPATION: MOTHER

MYTH #1 Mothers are stupid. I realise not everyone believes mothers are ignorant. But, I must say, since becoming a mom, I am treated differently. People tend to over-articulate, speak slowly and smile a lot, as if I may not quite grasp their intended meaning. Well, guess what? I can read AND write! I have even been to University (albeit sporadically). Clerks speak to me in the same tone they use with my daughter. I admit, I’ve never been cooed at but it has been close a few times. Gestures are exaggerated as though I am blind, voices raised as though I cannot hear and small tasks done on my behalf as though I am obtuse. The truth is, you DO grow eyes on the back of your skull after having children, and so my eyesight is outstanding. My ears can detect eleven different cries in the night so please lower voice and, really, I can tie my own shoe, but thank you anyway. Certain individuals go to great lengths to extend themselves and I am grateful, if not a tad sceptical. It seems to be a matter of guilt. Children are the ultimate guilt-inducing machines. I remember it clearly, when a child is nearby, all of our petty vices come crashing upon us, and we vow to try harder and be more wholesome. We suddenly decide to quit smoking and instead learn to bake bread. Childless people overreact, overcompensate and basically try too hard.

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