August 6, 2011
When I was a compulsive parenting expert…
Over at my friend Nathalie‘s parenting blog 4 Mothers, I’ve written a guest post about my career as a compulsive parenting expert:
‘I told them, “And be prepared to feel like a cow. Be prepared to cry, and cry. It’s going to be awful, I’m not going to lie to you. But you’re going to get through it, I promise. I sit here feeding my screaming infant and lecturing you as living-proof that one day everything is going to be okay. Oh, and by the way, I’ve gone through your registry and crossed off all the stuff you don’t need, and made a note about everything you’ve missed.”
It was a compulsion, I will admit, the way I insisted on hunting down women in their third trimesters of pregnancy, and horrifying them with stories of how terrible their lives were about to become. But really, I wasn’t responsible for my behaviour in their presence. The very sight of their burgeoning bellies, their innocent bliss, how they kept talking about looking forward to getting the baby out so they could finally get a good night’s sleep again—it would fill me with overwhelming dread, and I’d start displaying symptoms of PTSD.’
You can read the rest here.
I’ve never got what was wrong with feeling like a cow.
A lot of life’s blissful moments involve feeling other than human: swimming like a dolphin, skiing/sailing like a bird.
Feeling like a female animal felt primal to me.
I would agree that there could be some powerful cow moments in one’s life. What I meant, however, is the less primal having-one’s-udders-squeezed-into-a-machine kind of experience. No fun.