The Cerebral Mum

I think Caspar must be having a growth spurt. It’s only 1:14pm and he’s already gone done for his second nap. In spite of it looking like her would be done to just one nap a day soon, it’s now gone back up to 3. Or perhaps I’m just not as “present” for him and he’s bored and having no fun. I don’t think that’s it though. I think that really would be a self-pitying, un-motherlike thought.

Well, maybe not un-motherlike. Mothers worry. Mothers try to do what’s best and there is never a real answer to that. I think we’re fine, though. I know I don’t have the energy and zest that I would like, and if that was going to be some lifetime thing I think that would upset me. But I don’t think that it is a lifetime thing. I don’t I am scarring him for life because I am sad right now. And I do my best to keep our days busy for him. Or busy enough. I still enjoy him. He still makes my heart light up. Right now, the light is a little dim, but it is a light nonetheless. So it’s okay.

He probably has become a little more demanding than usual in the last few days, which is evidence that he is very aware that I am not as focussed as usual, but he is such an easy, placid boy that it is not unbearable. It is not making me feel more stressed or pressured or overwhelmed. It is not making me feel like a failure. And that’s good.

Really, it’s just a reminder when I drift into my head to snap out of it, to be in the day as best I can. Knowing that there are many mothers out there suffering depression whose depression is tied up with their young children, I think that I am fortunate that mine is not. At some stage, I guess, I will have to consider how becoming a mother has effected me, my psyche, because I need to question everything I think I know. My thinking has become rigid. I think I have less capacity for empathy at the moment. I think I have become judgemental.

But when I do examine it, although I think I will still feel as i do now, that our relationship is an easy one, that he is a wonderful human being, and that I am a good mother for him. That I have the resources to make good choices, that I have the capacity to love him as needs to be loved. That it is easy to love him. I do not have the same expectations of perfection for my child or for me as a mother that I seem to have for myself alone, or for other people. Those expectations for “them” - that nebulous, imaginary “them” - need to go.

I think that when I speak about the world and social issues I am careful with my words. I don’t make accusations or use ad hominums to bolster my opinion. But I think that somewhere in me there is some sense of self-righteousness that takes away the good part of doing that.

And now it is 1:42pm. And he’s is crying to get up. Just a little nap. So off I go to be in his day.