Although I love being a mother, I don’t care for Mother’s Day. I think it’s a Hallmark holiday and the worst of its kind, pressuring fathers and children everywhere to suddenly bestow upon the tired women in their lives some form of gratitude which may or may not live up to everyone’s expectations. That said, some mothers do really love the holiday, look forward to it, and feel as though a Hallmark holiday is the least they’ve earned, having borne a baby straight from their body into this world where she must love, nurture, and grow the baby into an adult.
Regardless of how I feel about Mother’s Day, it struck me as odd when a writer in the New York Times called motherhood the “dumbest job” ever.
Having been a mother for 11 years now, and one to four children, I wholeheartedly disagree – motherhood is many things, but not dumb. While I have worked outside my home and in my share of offices, motherhood is probably one of the more difficult things I’ve done, if not solely because it’s such a marathon. (I’ve parented for 11 years and still have 14 to go. At that point, I could still live another five decades.) We’ve all seen the numbers on salary websites, that if mothers were compensated for their work, they’d make six figures. Identifying a professional category, though, is trickier: motherhood falls in a wide chasm, somewhere between dog-walker, therapist, chef, and pediatrician. It’s the most complex of all professions, both highly underrated, misunderstood, and underappreciated to boot.
Motherhood isn’t so hard as it is taxing. By that I mean, it’s certainly not brain surgery to teach a child how to go to the bathroom in the bathroom. (I had a girlfriend with children whose husband was a neurosurgeon and we all felt so bad for her because she had lost that empathy card: Imagine telling your neurosurgeon husband your day was hard because Jonny wet his pants.) But have you ever really sat down and labored over the mechanics of teaching a little person when, how, and where to use the bathroom? For some kids, this comes naturally (I would say it did for two of mine) and for others it’s quite a task. Or, have you ever had a conversation with a child (as I did recently with my four-year-old) where you had to explain why excreting in the backyard was unacceptable in the suburbs? “Good news,” my son said, “I did not do that.” Whew – apologies to the neighbors.
The physicality of teaching little ones everything from basic chores to manners, to how to read, to how to dress, to how to address a stranger, to when to know a stranger is ‘danger,’ to how to love God, love people, and respect the aged and love the least among us remains simultaneously the most laborious and most rewarding. If I had a dollar for every time I’ve been helping my four-year-old wipe his nose (or bottom) while explaining to my oldest son the mechanics of long division, while also describing to my eight-year-old what puberty is, I too would have purchased an island.
I have multiple children, so the work of raising them has morphed over time, from being more of a physical job (where it takes all day to get ready for the day to all night to get ready for nighttime), to a more emotional task (where older ones are entering more of an emotional battleground, navigating puberty, peers, the pull of electronic devices, and attempting to gain independence, often through pushing boundaries). Even after discussing sleepovers, phone and app privileges, and even sex, I still wonder from the moment I wake until the moment they’re asleep: Did I do that right? Did I do enough? Do they know how much I love them?
Motherhood is hard because it’s truly a marathon of the longest kind. There is no real respite when a woman parents: Even vacation is simply parenting in another venue. If anything, a kids’ behavior can be worse or even more puzzling while out of town or at Grandma’s, because while they’re having fun they’re out of their routine. Persistence and consistency is key when parenting, and I can’t think of any other job where this level is required nearly 24 hours a day, seven days a week, all year every year for 18 years. This isn’t a plea for my motherhood-victimhood to be honored, nor a ploy for attention or empathy, but rather this is simply why many woman both love and loathe motherhood; why it is both their greatest struggle and their strongest love; why it takes everything and gives nothing, and yet there is a hole children fill and a soul-tie that persists unlike any other relationship that brings incredible joy.
Who else but for my children would I wake before them, go to bed after them, filling the day with work so they enjoy financial security, gentle teaching; so they grow up to be mature, disciplined, and (hopefully) responsible? Who else but for my children would I catch vomit with my own hands, sleep for two hours only to wake to feed a crying newborn (every two hours all day and night for several months) and who else but for my children would I too flush with embarrassment when they are called out, find myself angry when they are shamed or lied to, and yet experience unfathomable joy at the simplest pleasures of reading a book, hearing that first word, or playing a game of tag?
Motherhood is the greatest of treasures because it encompasses that most difficult of responsibilities: Another human being’s life. It brings the greatest amount of joy because peppered among seasons of ice cream and movie nights, of swimming pools and days at the beach, are days of vomit, bad attitudes, illness, messes–and for some parents, even death.
Motherhood is complex and hard, wonderful and joyful, because it asks another person to bear the incredible burden of teaching a small person how to be an independent, caring, responsible adult while navigating the laborious daily tasks of life that are as annoying as they are essential.
Its risks and rewards are great because the job is so great: It is anything but dumb.
Nicole Russell is a contributor to the Washington Examiner’s Beltway Confidential blog. She is a journalist in Washington, D.C., who previously worked in Republican politics in Minnesota. She was the 2010 recipient of the American Spectator’s Young Journalist Award.
