I am Their Natural Habitat
When you’re pregnant your baby is part of you in a very real and physical way. Your little one shares your food and the very air that you breathe. You feel each other move, you can tell when the baby is awake or asleep or has the hiccups. You give up your own personal real estate as your abdominal cavity is gradually taken over by a whole other being entirely. You are one person and two people all at the same time.
The funny thing is that it doesn’t really change after the baby’s born. Sure, you can tie your own shoes and fit through doorways again. These are very good things. But all the same that baby depends on you for everything. This little one’s very life hinges on you. It’s almost like this newborn person is still part of you, sharing your space and your being.
Sometimes I’m lying in bed nursing 10-month-old Jacob, and 4-year-old Hannah is on my other side vying for her space. She clings to me, she kneads my belly and grabs my arms. She pushes her face into my neck as if I am her life’s breath. She wants me to do things for her. She wants me to be with her every minute. She wants to claim the real estate of my body for herself.
In these moments I am struck by how these children view me almost as a habitat. I am not really a person in their eyes. I am more like a physical presence sustaining them, a guardian in whose arms they will always be safe. I am their mother, and they are still small enough that this is a potent thing. I am their divine authority and their greatest truth.
Sometimes it grates on me, the way these children clamber and climb and cling. The way I can’t get 3 seconds of peace, visit the bathroom by myself, sleep in on a lazy Saturday morning. I am Needed. It is a mortal offense if I close the door behind myself after I enter a room. It is an outrageous affront if I attempt to have some time alone for any reason.
At these times, when I am on my last nerve and I do not want two children using me as a jungle gym I become angry. I glare at my husband who does his best, but at the mere sight of him the children shriek and cry for Mama and cling ever harder. I sometimes try to hide, but I am always found or drawn out by the despair of little voices. I know that my temper tantrums are fruitless, and in the end I will only have to return and placate the feelings I’ve hurt.
So I try to keep my focus. I remind myself that it won’t always be like this. My children will grow up, as surely as all children do. I will not always be some sort of mother goddess in their eyes. Too quickly they will want nothing to do with me. They will see my feet of clay. I will have all the bathroom privacy a person could ask for.
When that day comes, when I can sleep in or spend the day reading a book, I might even miss the clinginess. Those moments when I was at the centre of my children’s universe. When they hung on to me for dear life. I try to appreciate the good parts while they last. The many upsides of being the first and best home for these amazing little people.
I know the feeling, there is no escape from the neediness, and the suffocating sensation of not having any personal space can feel life-threatening as if your entire identity is being waylaid by these parasites.
(That’s the dark side)
The bright side is that it is extraordinary to be LOVED so completely by those little beings that you LOVE so completely! The bond is priceless and infinitely valuable and so warm and wonderful!!!!
When they were young I used to have to give MYSELF time-outs. I would feel myself start to lose it as they clambered and whined and vied for my attention endlessly. I would pop on a quiet movie, put a sippy cup in their hands and say, “mommy needs some quiet time for a second”. Then I would get a peice of chocolate and a very short article in a magazine and lock myself in my bedroom for 5 minutes. (Yes we put a bathroom lock on our bedroom door). Sometimes I would get the whole 5 minutes, sometimes I would get 30 seconds before little fists were banging on the door, but I would tell them I’d be out in a minute and to go watch the show…… sure it only works half the time…. better than nothing.
My oldest is now 12 and my youngest is just turned 8, and they are still very huggy and need their goodnight routine, it is very sweet!
Tearing up right now. Thank you for this. I needed to know that I wasn’t the only one who felt like I don’t really belong to me.
That is a great post.
You have described my life perfectly. Sometimes it is like I am their jungle gym. I also try to tell myself that this assumption that I am in existence only for them will end and I will miss it. But it can be exhausting.
Sometimes it seems so unfair that you have to experience children in such a linear fashion. There are such wonderful missable things and such a world of pain-in-the-ass in every stage, it would be nice to skip back and forth (although that didn’t work out so well for the time traveler’s wife). I am at a fairly blissful stage right now — both of them are quite independent, but Eve will come and find me from wherever she’s playing for a cuddle every half hour or so, and my great hulking nine-year-old son still knocks me over with the leading-with-his-head snuggle at least once or twice a day. As much as “I want to be magnets with Mommy” (that’s a direct quote) drives me crazy, it is nice being the whole wide world to a couple of really exceptional small people.
Beautiful post, Amber! Sometimes I think about this whenever I see my mom and I realize how much she truly gave for me.
Saw your tweet about writing to work, too. What a wonderful decision. I’m all for the letter writing in how much it can help ourselves, too.
Katie
Amen! Some nights I am just so “touched out” that I glare at my husband if he comes near me once all the boys are (finally) asleep! But, as I feel my oldest start to ever so slowly move away from the clinginess, my heart aches.
Love the imagery of mother as habitat. My son is always poking and pinching, head-butting and fierce-kissing in addition to the climbing, pulling, cuddling, kissing, zerbeting, ‘up’-ing, following and needing … you’ve described the feeling very well.
I have to think of that sometimes too – savoring the clinginess before they turn into eye-rolling tweens!
it’s the lack of personal space which i find most deranging about being a mother – he’s responding well to me needing quiet time and we get some great hanging out together quality time as a result. yes, it will pass but that’s no salve to overtouchedness if you need some clear space around you.
I can totally relate to this. And I love how you put it into such a fresh perspective with your perfectly chosen words. You won a stumble for this one!
I’ve also felt frustrated by too much physical contact…but I know I will miss it someday.
I think I’ll go cuddle my daughter on the couch right now!