Ode to Mothering Part 1

Mothering is hard work. The only people I have ever heard say that it isn’t, have absolutely no experience of what they were talking about. And the hard work just keeps going on and on and on. My youngest child is only 2, so I have a good many years of intensive mothering to look forward to. I know that while some of this hard work may be lessened as my children go out to school (and no longer track dirt into the house every single daylight hour), there also will be added work as I help my children deal with the certainties of homework and making school friends, and the possibilities of learning difficulties and bullying. And then, I know that the heart work of mothering does not stop when a child finishes school or turns 18 or moves out of the family home or gets their first job or gets married and even has children of their own. For example, D’s son is grown up and married, yet this past week she has been working very hard for him, much of the time on her knees, because his wife had a serious car accident and D has been praying very hard.

When I think of all the hard work involved in my mothering, I am tempted to feel sorry for myself and grumble about it all to my husband or anyone else who will listen. One of the things which encourages me is to think about another very hard worker.

This particular hard worker is an inspiration to me. When this person once reflected upon their work, they used words such as “toil” and “hardship”, so I know they had lots in common with me. This person said that they worked “night and day”, which also sounds a whole lot like my ‘on-call at all times’ mothering work. This person wrote of “sharing their lives”, which describes perfectly the intimate day-to-day interaction I have with my children. This person said they did not want to be “a burden” to the people they were working for, which sounds a lot like the heavy responsibility I feel to be the best mum I possibly can be. This person said the people they worked for were “dear” to them. They even said “we loved you so much”, which is exactly how I feel about my own children. Having so much in common with this person, I know that I can learn from the way they approached their own hard work.

The only thing is, this person wasn’t a mother. That would have been impossible since the person was a bloke. But he wasn’t a father, either. Actually, he was single and childless his whole life. Which means that in some ways, we are completely different. He lived a long time ago, in a far away country, and spent years in jail for a cause he believed in. I live in 21st century Australia and haven’t had more trouble with the law than earning a speeding ticket 15 years ago.

Interestingly, this man – his name was Paul – thought that the two of us do have a lot in common. Actually, Paul seemed to think that the work of a mother was something to admire and even copy. We live in a time where feminists have done all they can to make the job of mothering seem pretty worthless, but Paul lived at a time where women weren’t valued much at all, in a culture that was highly man-centred. Yet Paul went so far as to brag about imitating mothers!