The story of becoming an American mother
'29.08.2017'
Source: Marina Sokolovskaya
America is gaining the upper hand over me - at first everything went with a creak, like an unlubricated wheel, but now everything is easier and easier. Or maybe I rebuild myself under it with joy. At this stage I am trying to get rid of the Russian mother-sufferer, whether Soviet or Russian - it does not matter, the main thing is to get rid of her in myself as a species.
The American mother is not a sufferer at all, she is the person who has the greatest happiness - the child / children. Her happiness does not grow in a swamp from phrases:
- - I suffered giving birth to you for two days!
- - Didn't sleep at night, washed diapers, and when did you cut your teeth?
- - There were no normal clothes, there was no food - I sifted porridge from sugar, ran to the dairy kitchen at six in the morning!
- - Everything is so expensive for you!
The children of the American mom are just growing up. In the United States, there is generally no cult of the heroine-mother, who suffered, did not get enough sleep, was malnourished, if only to bring it out ... There is no strain - mom is the most sacred on earth! Because everyone understands - and the bastard can give birth to a child, but that very little one born from the bastard is precisely the most sacred thing at the stage of childhood. There is no pretentious suffering. There are women who wanted a child, gave birth to it and are raising it. They grow up in love and joy.
When I lived in Russia, not a day passed so that I did not hear a sympathetic whisper in my back, or so that they did not say to my face - well, nothing, nothing, they will grow up - that will help my mother! And then, by all means turning to my children - and you listen to mom! How hard it is with you! And, of course, this was true - it was hard for me alone with three, but is this a reason to talk about this to the children? That very happiness, which, by the way, did not ask you to give birth to it at all ... In Russia they sympathized with me. And in the US, they compliment children. Because of this, I felt uncomfortable for a long time. No one here rushes to you with sympathy, here they ask you to admire your own children:
- - Lord, what beautiful children! God bless them and you, happy mother!
- - I look at your children and I understand God is great!
- - How lucky you are with such wonderful children! Give you the happiest life, cuties!
Do you understand? They do not sympathize with happiness, they rejoice in it and invite you to rejoice with them - your children! Eddie sometimes stands on the doorstep of the nursery when they sleep, and out loud admires - could you have children better?
At first I tried to evoke sympathy, joking, cute, yes, while sleeping. Then I realized that they do not understand, just not in their culture, and stopped: children are joy, period.
Now I understand that the difficult Soviet life, the unstable present times are killing the joy of motherhood, and do not tell me that oh, it’s not so. How so. Our parenting is a kind of feat: “Three children in our time ??”. Their parenting is happiness, sometimes accompanied by difficulties - "Honey, he got drunk!" - "He got drunk once, and you smoked constantly at his age!"
An American mother is often presented to us as indifferent, and her love for a child is not as strong as ours, and she is not capable of a feat for the sake of a child ... in short, almost echidna. But all her “fault” is only that for tens of years she has not had to suffer in childbirth, invent food, if there is no mixture, knit sweaters or patch ... For tens of years, an American mother can afford not to perform a feat, not to survive but just enjoy the conversation with your happiness. Her life is much simpler, medicine is better - that's all. But in our eyes - she does not survive, does not suffer, does not overcome, which means that she is an inferior mother.
And I learn to enjoy what I should, without strain and pathos, without unnecessary expectations - the main thing is that they grow in love and joy, but no one knows how it goes on. Because it is not we who have accomplished the feat, it is we who are given the happiness of being parents.
