We’re not all good enough mothers

Everything is usually so noisy; right now everything is quiet; there’s a bout of anomalous sleeping; Faye says uh oh; she is fine; kids are vulnerable and tough; never let them get hurt; they’re constantly getting hurt; it’s usually never too serious; it always could be a disaster.

Be hypervigilant; be laid-back and don’t stress too much; throw yourself into it, be proactive, maybe even hyperactive; seize every moment of rest that you can, live for the rare downtime; do it all; you can never do it all; everything needs cleaning; you can’t clean everything; get a plain rug so you can find the dirt; have a paisley one to hide the spills.

Your kids will imitate everything you do; your kids will be revolted by what you do; anything might get infinitely repeated; anything might never happen again; everything is patterns and rhythms; nothing is.

You are the best person; you are loved and needed; you are the worst person; you are awful and hated and ridiculous; you are good infinity and bad infinity; your kids feel licensed to have infinite laments; you are not licensed to do that; everything is reciprocal but everything is also so one-sided.

Childcare is blissful and oceanic; childcare is tedious and overrated; you’re full of love you’re going mad; always get help always do everything; you’re just a human being; you’re just a magical container for human beings; what you do is never enough; why then do things usually work out fine?

 In conclusion, we are all “good enough mothers,” as Winnicott famously put it, except that we’re not all good enough, and we’re not all mothers.

The other day, our neighbor called us a “two mom family.” At first it took me by surprise, but then I started to get used to it.

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