This card popped up in my Facebook feed last week.
Yeah okay sure, I thought. I remember what it’s like to have your first baby. I remember when any piece of well-meaning advice, any tidbit of info, felt like a sneering admonishment. I remember how I absorbed all and any criticism or suggestion into the very core of my insecure, sleep-deprived psyche where it would echo for weeks to come, feeding my bottomless anxiety.
So that is a good promise to make. And well-meaning intruders advisers really would be wise to think twice before offering up unsolicited tips to a new mother.
But, come on. That’s not going to happen. The world is full of judgmental busybodies. And even people who really mean no harm can accidentally say something that strikes a nerve with new parents. I’m sure I’m guilty of doing that myself.
A commercial for Similac is also making the rounds this week. It shows all the stereotypical mom types hanging out in cliques at the park like some sort of “back to high school” nightmare. There’s the breastfeeding moms, the formula feeding moms, the baby wearers, the yoga/fitness moms, the working moms and the stay-at-home dads. Then a baby carriage starts rolling down a hill and everybody chases after it with nothing but love and concern in their hearts because we’re all parents first, you see. Brought to you by the Similac Sisterhood of Motherhood.
People love this cheesy ad. They are brought to tears by it. They are sharing it with all their friends and saying things like, “So true!” This is because the message of us versus them, the “mommy wars” if you will, resonates with new mothers because it reflects their experiences. When you are caring for your baby with all your love, attention and energy, any suggestion that you could or should do something differently can feel like a critique of your motherhood as a whole.
If you are not breastfeeding, attachment parenting, growing your own food, working out, pursuing a rewarding career and preregistering at your local Montessori, then somebody thinks you’re doing it wrong. It feels like you’re being judged all the time.
And maybe you are, sometimes. But you probably aren’t being judged nearly as much as you think, either. The truth is, people only have a passing interest in how you take care of your baby. By the time you get home, they’ve already moved on to outrage over a subway delay, a tax increase and the loss of the Timbit dutchie.
It’s easier said than done, for sure, but I wish I’d been better able at not internalizing criticisms or suggestions when I first had a baby. I mean, what if we talked about Russian literature the way we talk about breastfeeding?
“I’m off to my weekly meeting of Russian literature lovers! You should really come.”
“Oh. Well, I really tried to give Russian literature a chance. I mean, I wanted to like it, but it just didn’t work for me.”
“Really? What did you try? Dostoevsky? Gogol? Because, you know, it really is the best kind of literature.”
“Somebody gave me War and Peace, but I couldn’t get past the first chapter.”
“War and Peace is just not a good starting point. Really, you should come to our meeting. There is so much support for people like you who are struggling with Russian literature.”
“Thanks, but I think it’s probably too late. I’ve already given it up and now I’m catching up on Downton Abbey instead.”
“You know, I heard about a woman who’d stopped reading Russian literature for weeks, but was then able to slowly make her way through some of Checkhov’s short stories with the right support system. She only needed to top up her leisure time with an episode of Downton after she managed to get through a few pages.”
“Well, I tried my best and I really don’t think I can go through that again,” she said, walking away.
“I was only trying to help!”
The truth is that I’ve made it through to the other side and the only thing that matters in the end is that my kids think I did a pretty good job. You’ll get there too.