So, there's this whole mother revolution going on right? The Mommy wars... So what does it mean to be a mother? I am going through a bit of self exploration myself. What I don't like, is the fact that I am falling into a recognizable, stereotypical, supressed group. I am a white, middle-class, minivan driving mother of soon to be three children. I feel that those words alone are beginning to sum up my life. The fustrating part is that it sums up the lives of many of those around me. I get fustrated when someone is put out by the thought of taking a bus somewhere. Yes it's more convienent to drive in our cars filled with all the crap we are compelled to tote everywhere (goodness knows, it's always handy to have those back up snacks, diapers and wipes in the minivan). But what fun it is to pare down and realize how little you actually need, and then to support public transportation. And the kids just think it's a glorious adventure- no car seats!! But then there's the folks who I've gotten close to. I find that these other mothers, their husbands tend to more feminist and equality type of thinkers then the traditional stereotypical husband/dad who watches sports all the time and has masculine hobbies and activites. Those who do have this traditional husband, I find I have a harder time connecting because I have to constantly explain or excuse my husband's behavior, or brush it aside nonchalantly as if it is something that doesn't occur that often. Like him demanding that I let him help with the housework. Him letting me go out with friends when ever I please, even though he never gets much time for himself. Him shouldering a equal half of the parenting work in my eyes. Ok, maybe not an equal half, but the intention is there, and often times I figure that things work out equally in a round about way (distort the situation so I can make it so). But you know, the other thing is that I am not a typical middle class white suburban housewife/mother. For one, I'm only 24, and that's coming a long way baby since I had my first child four years ago. 24 is eon's away from the mothers who are in their 40's (and we have the same age children). And I'm a student. Yep, still working on my bachelors degree, which is not a bad thing, and is quite admirable by some, yet as a white middle class suburbanite, I am lesser. I have yet to have the career that needed to be inturrupted by gymboree classes, music lessions, what not. Yet, I am doing the same damn things that every other mother around me is doing. We're all caught in this cycle of staying home, cleaning house, simulating our children, putting on appearances and this fustrates me because if one of a few things change, like say our gender, our race, our social class, then we'd be in a whole different situation that wouldn't even allow us to necessarily complain or reflect on our situations. This makes me feel like a looser and imposter. Looser because I know how hard it is for the "others" (read minorities, working class folks, ect) to be parent's and how different their world is from mine. Yet my world is the world that is the stereotypical world. The world that is lusted after by everyone else who wishes to be a mother. To stay at home with your children to raise them and attend fun gymnastics classes, to do arts and crafts, to keep your 3+ bedroom house in immaculate cleanlieness and meticously decortated state. To drive a car where there is plenty room to cart kids, extras, friends, equipment around and never worry about it breaking down, or paying the insurance or registration. It's privilage and sometimes it sucks when it stares you in the face because then you are guilty of living what everyone else lusts after.

There's a hero inside of you

There is a superhero inside of me. In many ways. For one, the baby who has the amazing capability to decrease my lung capacity by 90%, press up against my ribs unrelenting until they feel they will never heal from their permanent bruises. The baby, who may have been planned, but not planned to be concieved when she so chose, and dares to enter our lives when every nerve is strung as tight as a violin string in the house. The baby who dares it's (ok ok, who are we to say it's a girl when we really don't know for sure) parents to take care of it while managing a four year old with diabetes and a 14 month old with a penchance for head butting. Yes, that is one of those superhero's inside of me. Another is the woman who dons yellow rubber gloves to scrub every pot and dish and surface after dinner while 8 months pregnant because there is no dishwasher (nor a place to put one with all the children running around) and to quickly as possible get the chores done while there are two parents in the house (read- one takes care of kids, one does chores) so as not to have to do them the next day while tending to both kids, and so as to get to the promised five books (that I will read competely out of breath- thanks fetus). So yes, yellow gloves=superhero by association. And then there is the mother that I am that makes me a hero. Despite yelling at my children all day long, or feeling like I do, running around yet never getting things done, providing stimulis for the children, kissing boo boos... I am a hero for navagating this big brave world of motherhood. For goodness sakes, there's so much to it. So here's a tip of the cup to hero mama with her yellow gloves and third kid on the way.