Normalize

Although Four doesn’t believe me, I am actually a professional musician (she thinks that my only purpose in life is to cater to her every whim and most days it’s just easier to acquiesce). I write my songs and compositions on a complex computer program that has, among its other capabilities, a very useful function called NORMALIZE. You use this button when you’ve recorded some audio at a different level to everything else and need to make it sound in sync with the rest of the piece.

One of the things that I thought, before I actually had any children was that as soon as I gave birth, I would somehow develop an extra facet to my personality. The sanctity of Motherhood itself would bestow upon me the ability to fit in effortlessly with other people, endow me with endless patience, and the milk of human kindness would flow from my heart to all living things without discrimination. I would have a sort of glow around me, not exactly a halo, but probably not far off. It would be especially bright when I was sitting on the rocking chair with my clean, quiet, happy baby on my breast.

I did actually get that for a little while, mostly until the Percocet wore off after my C –section. Then I got very tired and grumpy, discovered the glow was actually a migraine aura and my baby was noisy, could spit up and poo at the same time (talent!) and my nipples felt like they’d been ripped off and stapled back on, haphazardly.

I think almost everyone is shocked by the early days with an infant, but I still held out some hope for later on when the mothers’ groups would meet and we’d be there with our little darlings, chattering and pushing them on the swings, and my child would make life-long friends with the other babies. We’d just moved to this country, this town, and I did not have a single pal for myself, let alone the child, so I went against all my natural resistance to any organized group social event and took Four, (then just months old) along. It turned out, though, that I am not very good at groups. I never really was. I’d almost always rather curl up with a book or potter around on my own than spend time thinking up things to chat about and trying to assimilate. Don’t get me wrong, most of these women were bright, friendly and nice. It was clearly me that was the problem. I’m sure I could have found a kindred spirit there, (except my kindred spirit would be busily avoiding group social encounters) but I just could never relax and be myself because being myself would have involved:

a) Refusing to participate in anything that might be construed as ‘Pot Luck’ 

b) Telling people “Bored shitless, actually” when they asked how I am 

c) Explaining that I missed my old life and that this tiny person who I loved more than anything I had ever known was also the thief of my former identity and she had pulled the rug out from under the sole of my being.

In order not to alarm the other mothers in the group I developed a sort of internal NORMALIZE button so that I could respond to questions appropriately with the right sort of timbre, and even smile when I did it. 
“Yes, I’m from England, Yes, I do like it here, the weather is lovely. Yes, it’s lots of fun having a baby. Oh, yes it is hard getting up at night but Husband is very helpful… Yes, certainly I’ll bake something to bring next time.”

Then I’d go home and stare at the wall and think about how I’d got it wrong.
Motherhood hadn’t added an extra facet to my personality, it had taken several away.

I no longer go to mothers’ groups, although I see them meeting at playgrounds all the time. Today, in fact, a very merry gang of mommies and their children were at the park where I was with One and Four. While pushing our little ones, I got chatting with a pretty lady, expecting her 3rd ,who asked me where I was from, did I like it here etc.

I told her where I was from, that I liked the weather and the ocean but I was very ready to live in a big city again. That I missed being surrounded by other working creatives in my field. I missed the culture of dissent that seems to have disappeared in the name of patriotism since 9/11 and I’d love a good debate and to hear some real news, not op-ed for a change. Then I said that I thought most people were charming and friendly but it would be nice to hear what they really thought and felt for a change because Paradise was so damn saccharine that I was losing my sense of taste. 
She continued to smile and although she was gracious and polite I sensed her discomfort and desire to flee. Fortunately for both of us, One decided he wanted to get off the swings and we drifted apart. 

Later, as my little family left the playground we walked past the table where the mommys’ group sat. They watched us with baleful eyes and fell silent as we went by. 
I didn’t feel bad. Not even when the low murmurs started after we passed. I felt good because I didn’t NORMALIZE, and also because I most likely won’t be put in the embarrassing position of having to turn down an invitation to their potluck.