moms seemed simultaneously tireless and on the brink of exhaustion. Once when I was ten, I slept over at a friend’s house. For fun, my friend and I decided that we would try to stay up all night. Around two in the morning, we thought we heard a monster. After drumming up the courage to investigate, we crept down to the basement to discover my friend’s mom doing laundry in a neck brace. I remember thinking, “Maybe moms don’t sleep. Maybe moms are indestructible!” Moms always seemed to be in a state ofconstant mothering. Conversely, I remember thinking all dads seemed like they were just returning from playing golf or about to leave to play golf. Maybe that was just the shirts men wore in those days.
Even back then, hats didn’t fit my huge head
.
Now, as a father, I have an even deeper appreciation for mothers. It’s not just the endless tasks and limited sleep. Motherhood is filled with executive decisions, and with each decision comes possible conflict with kids, husbands, and other mom friends. With these other mom friends, there are so many opportunities for major disagreements and awkwardness. Let’ssay that a woman starts with twenty friends when she finds out she’s pregnant. There is going to be awkwardness with, let’s say, six of those friends because they have no interest in babies or are jealous she is pregnant. Then four won’t agree with how she behaves during the pregnancy. She’s too uptight, too casual, or not available enough as a friend. We are down to ten friends. Then there are the decisions of how the baby will be delivered, breastfeeding, circumcision, blanket or no blanket in the crib, and whether or when to return to work after the birth. These topics turn out to be more divisive than opinions about politics and religion. After a couple of kids, there might be one good friend left. And that friend is never available because she has too many kids herself. I’m amazed mothers have anyone to talk to. When a man finds out he’s going to be a father, it barely covers more than twenty seconds of a conversation with his male friends. “I heard you two are expecting! Congratu … Who do you think is the best quarterback in the fourth quarter?”
Mothers need to talk, and fathers need to escape. I think this is why women of my mother’s generation would go to ladies’ luncheons. I remember as a teenager twice a year my mother announcing, “Me and the ladies are going out to lunch.” She would return eight hours later … well, let’s say, not sober. “Your father’s a jerk! Now get me a gyro.”
I suppose parenting wouldn’t feel so overwhelming if Jeannie didn’t make mothering look so easy. At times, I think she has more than two arms. She is an amazing partner and wife. The only thing Jeannie is missing is her own wife. A wife exactly like her. If you think this sounds sexist, you don’t know Jeannie.
Since I am not “handy,” Jeannie tends to do a lot of the inevitable household repairs that result from having five children who break everything. Recently, I was assembling a kid’s scooter and futilely trying to shove the top piece in.
“Jeannie, do we have a hammer?”
“Yeah, we have like three hammers.”
“Where are they?”
“In the toolbox.”
“We have a toolbox?”
There is one exception to Jeannie’s superhumanness. As capable, organized, and amazing as Jeannie is at almost everything, it is baffling how many times a day she loses her phone.
“Where’s my phone?”
“Didn’t you just find it?”
“Yes, but then I put it down somewhere. Can you call it?”
[
RING
]
“It’s in your hand.”
Jeannie calls this “mommy brain,” but rather than condemning mothers as ditzy scatterbrains, I think it’s just a matter of shifting priorities and focusing on the most important issues. Like taking care of me.
Jeannie is the mother of five children (six, if you include me) and my invaluable writing partner. I don’t mean partner
Even back then, hats didn’t fit my huge head
.
Now, as a father, I have an even deeper appreciation for mothers. It’s not just the endless tasks and limited sleep. Motherhood is filled with executive decisions, and with each decision comes possible conflict with kids, husbands, and other mom friends. With these other mom friends, there are so many opportunities for major disagreements and awkwardness. Let’ssay that a woman starts with twenty friends when she finds out she’s pregnant. There is going to be awkwardness with, let’s say, six of those friends because they have no interest in babies or are jealous she is pregnant. Then four won’t agree with how she behaves during the pregnancy. She’s too uptight, too casual, or not available enough as a friend. We are down to ten friends. Then there are the decisions of how the baby will be delivered, breastfeeding, circumcision, blanket or no blanket in the crib, and whether or when to return to work after the birth. These topics turn out to be more divisive than opinions about politics and religion. After a couple of kids, there might be one good friend left. And that friend is never available because she has too many kids herself. I’m amazed mothers have anyone to talk to. When a man finds out he’s going to be a father, it barely covers more than twenty seconds of a conversation with his male friends. “I heard you two are expecting! Congratu … Who do you think is the best quarterback in the fourth quarter?”
Mothers need to talk, and fathers need to escape. I think this is why women of my mother’s generation would go to ladies’ luncheons. I remember as a teenager twice a year my mother announcing, “Me and the ladies are going out to lunch.” She would return eight hours later … well, let’s say, not sober. “Your father’s a jerk! Now get me a gyro.”
I suppose parenting wouldn’t feel so overwhelming if Jeannie didn’t make mothering look so easy. At times, I think she has more than two arms. She is an amazing partner and wife. The only thing Jeannie is missing is her own wife. A wife exactly like her. If you think this sounds sexist, you don’t know Jeannie.
Since I am not “handy,” Jeannie tends to do a lot of the inevitable household repairs that result from having five children who break everything. Recently, I was assembling a kid’s scooter and futilely trying to shove the top piece in.
“Jeannie, do we have a hammer?”
“Yeah, we have like three hammers.”
“Where are they?”
“In the toolbox.”
“We have a toolbox?”
There is one exception to Jeannie’s superhumanness. As capable, organized, and amazing as Jeannie is at almost everything, it is baffling how many times a day she loses her phone.
“Where’s my phone?”
“Didn’t you just find it?”
“Yes, but then I put it down somewhere. Can you call it?”
[
RING
]
“It’s in your hand.”
Jeannie calls this “mommy brain,” but rather than condemning mothers as ditzy scatterbrains, I think it’s just a matter of shifting priorities and focusing on the most important issues. Like taking care of me.
Jeannie is the mother of five children (six, if you include me) and my invaluable writing partner. I don’t mean partner
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