On Being a Mama

Since I did two major life changes at the same time (moving to Chile + becoming a mom), I will never know which one is responsible for the sudden newness of absolutely everything, the feeling of being in an earthquake and trying to get your balance.  Today it feels that motherhood trumps new country but I will probably tell you something different another day.

One of the things I keep coming back to is that parenting is deeply humbling.  Kid throws herself on the floor in Starbucks and screams bloody murder?  Yup, she's mine.  Can't put her down for one second at a baby friend's birthday party?  Yup.  Tiptoe around the house/unplug the phone when she naps?  Yup.  Eat the empanada my kid spit up because there was no good place to throw it away and I was a little hungry?  Yeah...  All of the things I thought I swore I would never do or experience as a mom.

But not just humbled because of my daughter's behavior or my questionable parenting; I feel newly aware of my insignificance within humanity.  That may sound dramatic, but I come from the superpower country of the world and went to an elite high school and college within it, both of which constantly fed me messages of how special I was.  My college's motto is: Think one person can change the world?  So do we."  <-- Maybe, but she can't have kids:)

In the professional world, I was "somebody".  I worked in prestigious schools as a teacher, made a good income, and was respected by my students and colleagues.  I took for granted the respect that comes with being in a professional environment.  I also did not "get" all of my privilege at the time- I was living and working in some of the wealthiest places in the world.  Parents, especially stay-at-home-parents, get little respect, both in terms of salary (none) and prestige (also arguably none).  I do not puff out my chest or stand a little taller when someone asks me what I do.

Now, as a mother, I am doing the same job as a sizable fraction of people on the planet.  I am not particularly amazing at it (nor particularly bad at it), but I am just like all of the other parents out there: I go to bed wondering if my daughter is too hot or cold, I want her to learn to share, and I hope she will be a good student.  I want what other parents want for their kids, irregardless of social strata.  I now viscerally feel that I am not special.  I am lucky to have a decent amount of money, good connections, and to know English as my native language, but there is nothing inherent in me that makes me different from the mother who cleans my house or the mother who sells flowers across the street.