I must
start this post with my sincere hope that no woman who has suffered infertility
feel offense. I know the tiniest bit
about what that pain might feel like. I
lost my first baby 12 weeks into a much welcomed and celebrated pregnancy. In the 18 months of failed attempts that
followed that loss I had a brief taste of what living by cycles did to the
psyche – two weeks of hope followed by two weeks of despair… over and over again. Then I felt the fear and insecurity the 9
more months that I waited to actually hold Avery in my arms. Three little girls later much of that pain
has been replaced with the acceptance that any other timeline would have meant
three different humans, and I love desperately the ones I have. Ultimately, those months were moments
compared to what many face, and I would never want the thoughts I share to
diminish the reality of that hurt.
But… taking
the plunge anyway…
. This past
Mother’s Day I noticed a plethora of links and status updates asking that we
remember the women filled with pain on Mother’s Day who had never experienced
the gift of a child. When I read the
first few I was moved. The point was
initially well taken. But as the
sentiment became viral I found myself frustrated. I wondered if motherhood was so characterized
by guilt that we had to admonish ourselves for accepting any gratitude in light
of someone else’s potential pain. I
remember real bitterness over the ease at which some became mothers in surprise
day to day moments, but I don’t remember feeling that bitterness on Mother’s
Day. I was too filled with joy and
respect for the woman in my life such as my own mother, wonderful grandmothers
and generous aunts. I was inclined
towards celebration on those days. I
considered asking this past Mother’s Day if anyone else had similar thoughts
about our own unwillingness to take the spotlight for a moment. I am genuinely sad for anyone who wants to be
a parent and can’t, but I hoped that hyperfocus on woman without children this
year did not prevent any mother from giving herself her day last May.
I was
reminded of this analysis when I scrolled through facebook today. I saw tribute after tribute to husbands and
dads that made a difference, but no reminders to dads to celebrate cautiously
today as all over the world there were men who ached because they could not be
fathers. Come to think of it, I have
never heard one conversation about men who worried that they might ultimately
lead childless lives despite their lasting desire to father children. I do not believe it is because this ache is
not there. I know men young and old who
wanted kids but for a variety of reasons didn’t (or haven’t) seen that dream
come to fruition. I think it is just one
of the many ways that we marginalize fatherhood.
I have a
wonderful father. He catches people’s
attention because he is so willing to share his emotions. Jason recently joked that some men go their
whole lives waiting to see their father cry while we rarely have to go 24
hours. Though his job took him away from
us much of the work week, I remember him getting up with me at night to clean
up puke and comfort me back to sleep. I
remember him taking us to parks every Sunday and writing us stories to tell us
as we fell asleep each night.
I have an
equally wonderful husband. He adopts a
true co-parenting model. He hates when
females say they have to see if their husband can baby-sit so they can grab
drinks with the girls. He says things
like, “do they mean can their husband parent on Friday night?” He fixes the girls hair like it’s his
job. He fills plates at family
barbecues. He has combed lice out of
hair and painted nails. We both remain
surprised by the attention he draws from others as he completes the mundane
jobs of parenthood. I told him once that
I shouldn’t feel this way, but I often perceive all the attention he gets from
females as hidden insults to me. Do I
look like I am shirking my parenting responsibilities? I was comforted that he also felt some
offense. He wonders why it should
impress people that he 50/50 parents our children. He wondered why he gets compliments for
things mothers do unnoticed on a daily basis.
He explains that he takes joy in these acts, and would feel denied if he
didn’t have the opportunity to attempt to be as much of an influence in our
girls’ lives as I try to be. They are
lucky to have him, and he is lucky to have them.
I think we
don’t always expect enough of fathers. In
turn, we disempower them and disrespect them.
Sephus gets so frustrated at the sitcom portrayals of fathers and the
Papa Bear narrative found in so many short stories. Dads are great for playing airplane with or
making you chuckle, but in the end they just don’t really matter as much as
moms and aren’t nearly as capable. I know
many people will initially disagree with this idea. That’s good.
It means your experience is not coherent with the dominant messages
about fatherhood present in the media.
It means that we should expect fatherhood to be celebrated so much that
if we regret wishful woman without children on Mother’s Day, we must also
lament wishful fathers without children.
Knowing that unique situations lead to wonderful upbringings without one
parent or the other, we must still not sell either parent short. We need to bring fatherhood out of the
margin. Dads have too much to give to be
perceived as sideline parents.
