Yesterday, we celebrated Mother’s Day. We honored our mothers whether they are living or not, whether they live near or far, whether they be by blood or not, whether they raised us or not. We acknowledged the magnitude and the beauty of the role of motherhood. As we celebrated and honored, we also sympathized with those for whom the day is difficult, for various reasons.
Now, mother’s day is past and I hope that the sentiment will continue. As we honored the mothers in our own lives, the mothers that we know and love among our family and friends, may we extend that honor, and care, and respect, to mothers whom we do not know, but whom we encounter at the grocery store, or the park, or a restaurant, or out driving. It has been my experience that, on Mother’s Day, we love and appreciate and respect mothers but the rest of the days, we don’t.
In our culture, we tend to be cold and judgmental toward mothers. I have countless experiences in public with strangers who would rather evaluate my mothering on a split second of observation, than acknowledge that they don’t know the whole story. My child is melting down in line at the grocery store. People around me think I should have done something to prevent the meltdown or that I should be doing something to stop it. They are less likely to be forgiving or understanding, choosing instead to pass judgement condemning the mother for her actions or inactions. In a culture that honored and respected mothers, it would be common place for strangers to make way for a mother with a fussy baby or toddler to move to the front of the line. They would perhaps, unload her groceries from her cart to the conveyor belt so that she can tend to the child and get out of the line more quickly. Instead they stare, they frown, they judge, they ignore.
I put a “Baby on Board” symbol on the back of my car when I had my first child. I had precious cargo on board and I wanted everyone around me to know it. What happened over the next few weeks was a shocking welcome to the realities of the perception of children and parenthood in this country. My driving habits did not change, but the presence of that little sticker on the back of my car invited others, strangers whom I mistakenly believed would have some level of concern for the child in my car, to react according to their perceived inconvenience of a mother and child obstructing their hurried path. People began to tailgate me when I was traveling at or slightly above the speed limit, as I always had. People began to recklessly swerve around me to pass me in traffic. For weeks I refused to believe that this was happening because the presence of a baby in my car was declared by a caution sticker on the back window. I wanted to believe that they were isolated incidents, that it was a coincidence. Soon enough, I conceded that none of it was a coincidence. That people were behaving differently toward me on the road. That my plea for caution was eliciting the opposite of the drivers around me. My caution sticker was actually making the road conditions immediately around us more dangerous for myself, my baby, and other drivers, so with confusion and deep sadness, I took it down.
Just this past week, someone called out that I was brave for bringing all of my kids to Home Depot. I looked at our little group, the baby strapped on my tummy, lifting my toddler into the seat of the cart while the boys climbed into the front basket. I thought, I’m not brave, I’m scared to death walking in this store right now. I’m afraid of how my kids will act, will one of my children knock over a display, or throw a fit? Will the people I encounter be kind or rude? I was afraid that this shopping trip would be like so many others. That one of my kids would act, well, like a kid and that would elicit some sort of negative reaction from the strangers around us. As I looked down, I realized that though brave didn’t fit me in that moment, desperate might have been more like it, I looked over my brood of four little people huddled together around a shopping cart, and realized that I am awesome. I was carrying twenty pounds of baby on my chest while pushing about a hundred and thirty pounds of 7, 6 and 2 year old in a cart. We were a sight to behold I am sure. Most people, especially the judgmental ones, would be incapable or unwilling to do what I am doing.
I grew four babies, one at a time, inside my body. I gave birth to each one through excruciating pain before, during, and after each birth. I nursed each of my babies with milk made just for them. I held them for hours and hours over the early days weeks and months of their lives so that they would learn to trust the world around them because of the warm love and secure attachment we formed. I held them all night sometimes, even though I was so tired. I love each one more than life itself. More than they know. More than anyone could know.
I encourage you to examine your own thoughts and perceptions about the mothers you encounter in public. Are you quick to judge or quick to forgive? Do you believe you know what children need and how they should act or do you respect that the mother nearby is the expert on the little child that she has grown and for whom she cares and studies every moment of every day? Are your actions making a mother’s task easier or more difficult? Do you feel that women and children are in your way or slowing you down? Have you ever considered that you are in her way? That she has little people depending on her and that she is likely in more of a rush than you? If you must look at her rambunctious children, are you giving a warm and understanding smile or a cold and judgmental frown. Kids will be kids, and their mothers are doing their absolute best. Please be kind and respectful and honor them for the awesome job that they are doing every minute of everyday. Most importantly, know that you do not have the whole picture, you do not know the whole story behind the split second you are observing.
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