since becoming a mom

on longing to escape and the martyr complex of motherhood

Photo by Zach Lucero on Unsplash

Somehow, since becoming a mom, a trip to the grocery store without kids has become a luxury, a little getaway. Somehow, since becoming a mom, I volunteer for things that previously held zero to little appeal. Oh, the cat litter needs scooping? The car needs gas? The driveway needs shoveling? The trash needs to go out? The berms need mulching? The plants need watering? Pick me, pick me!

I found myself reveling in the silence and space of the gas pump the other day. The way three or four entire minutes pass where I am not needed or touched or talked to, and I can pace back and forth outside the vehicle or listen to the fuel pouring into the tank. This is what it feels like to be a functional member of society outside of the confines of my own home, I thought. This is what it feels like to surround myself with humans who aren’t screaming all day long. This is lovely! When the pump clicked, I pulled it from the filler and hung it up. I grabbed a chai latte, took a short walk, picked up our Lazy Dog pizza order. I was gone for a total of 45 minutes, but it felt like a getaway—a brief reprieve amidst my five days of solo parenting while Jim was away in NYC.

Somehow, since becoming a mom—particularly a mom of two—my standards for satisfaction have shriveled. It’s as if Professor Wayne Szalinski snuck into my house, pointed his shrink ray directly at me (ZAP!) and said, “Oops. Honey, I Shrunk the Satisfaction.”

Never in a million years did I think I could glean this much satisfaction from pumping gas, or loading fridge pouches into the shopping cart, or scooping shit from the litter boxes downstairs. But I do. Each of these instances are brief moments throughout the day where I’m reclaiming a moment for me.

I pop in my AirPods, tap on noise cancellation mode, and push play on my current audiobook. Sometimes, I listen to nothing at all. Silence—oh, the satisfaction of pure silence! What is this sorcery?

I know Jim feels it too, the pull to get away, to escape in small moments throughout the day. We’ve literally argued about who gets to take the car in for an oil change on a Saturday morning (i.e. who gets to spend two hours of solo time out of the house). Or who gets to do the grocery pick up at Kroger (i.e. 15 minutes of kid-free car time!). Or, oops, we’re all out of coffee. Who gets to drive into town and pick some up? You get the picture.

I’m not sure what this says about the current state of modern motherhood. That it truly does takes a village to raise our kids, but many of us have never met, or can never rely on that village to the extent that we need them. That the martyr complex is praised to a fault in motherhood, exalting the plethora of ways we exhaust ourselves for our children at the expense of our mental, emotional, and physical health. That motherhood has become an all-or-nothing gig, where we are readily shamed for choices that separate or distance us from our children, while we are lauded for the moments we are fully available to our children. That motherhood has become a system we long to escape.

Somehow, since becoming a mom, I find beautiful moments throughout the day that stop me in my tracks and remind me how miraculous this journey is—Loren reaching out to hold Kai’s hand, two brothers contentedly playing and sharing together, the voices of a little kitty and little wolf meowing and howling. And somehow, since becoming a mom, I find myself discovering so many moments that I desperately want to escape. Perhaps being a mom means learning to live with them both.