Guest Post: Is Mothering a Dirty Word?

A lot of things can be dirty about mothering, and my momma sisters out there know exactly what I’m talking about. But what if mothering feels like a dirty word for another reason? What happens when mothering doesn’t come naturally? Today’s guest is Kirsten Oliphant. I met Kirsten randomnly at church one Sunday when she was in visiting from Houston. We talked writing (she’s got an MFA and is working on her second novel) and blogging, and I thanked God that our paths crossed.  My favorite fun fact about Kirsten: she does roller derby. Yeah, she’s that cool.

Mothering Is a Dirty Word

Mom jeans.  Your Momma jokes.  In so many ways, motherhood carries negative connotations in our culture. Moms are often portrayed as old, uncool and unattractive—a picture the young Hollywood set has recently tried to challenge by racing to lose that baby weight so they can squeeze back into designer jeans and parade their baby around in the latest trendy carrier.  Neither end of that spectrum promotes a healthy (or realistic) view of motherhood.

For me personally, the term “mothering” held a secret shame for a totally different reason:  I have always felt like I was missing the Mom gene.

Most women see a newborn and exclaim, “How adorable!  How old is he? Can I hold her?”  Watching these encounters genuinely filled me with panic because I had no desire to hold that baby. I’ve never really thought newborns were very cute.  Puppies and kittens are great—but I’ll pass on the human baby, thank you. 

In many other ways I felt disconnected from traditionally feminine things.  I grew up as a tomboy wearing shorts under my dresses to church.  I let my hair air-dry and didn’t wear makeup throughout high school and college.  I prefer a poker night with the guys to a chick flick and girl talk.  I play roller derby, where I’m much more likely to get a black eye than a trophy.

None of those things really bothered me—in fact, I embrace that identity.  But having no mothering instinct toward babies seemed like a cardinal sin.  What was wrong with me that I didn’t find babies adorable?  I decided that this must mean that I wasn’t cut out for motherhood and probably shouldn’t have kids.  

Then I fell in love with a guy who has six siblings and loves big families. 

Before Rob I had started to question my no-kid policy, but before I said “I do,” I really sought God and reflected on my own fears and desires about having children.  In that time I not only realized that I did want children, but maybe even a lot of them.

So what changed? 

I still don’t go ga-ga for babies.  Unless they’re my own.  (As I write, I am being lured away by the toothless grin of my four-month old.)  What I came to terms with is that I don’t have to think every baby is adorable to be a good mom to my own children.  I don’t have to fit some kind of standard—whether that’s the trendy-hip Mom, the June Cleaver model, or something in-between.  And I certainly don’t have to have it all together.

It’s a good thing, because I don’t fit into some neat little package, and I most definitely do not have it all together.  What changed is that I gained the confidence to be a mother knowing that in Christ, I have the freedom to fail. 

Failure?  That doesn’t sound too optimistic or even very responsible.  But when you get to the heart of it, Christianity is based on failure.  Because we fail to meet God’s standard of perfection, God provided Jesus as our savior in the ultimate picture of love.

Despite my best efforts at mothering my children, I am going to fail.  Probably every day.  I will never be able to model or teach perfection to my kids.  I can’t possibly meet God’s standards, and neither can I meet those expectations of others, or even my own. 

Knowing this gives me a strange sense of freedom.  I can be a mother without succumbing to that pressure for perfection.  I still want to do the best job I can, but don’t feel the need to compete with other people or wrack myself with guilt when I screw something up. 

I never would have imagined myself embracing motherhood the way that I have.  I adore my two boys and can’t wait to have more.  Being freed from the inherent pressure of the word “mothering” has enabled me to dive headlong into it.   And let me tell you—where I’m swimming, the water is fine.

Kirsten is a wife, mom, writer, and roller derby-er living in Houston, TX. You can find her blogging at Still Hate Pickles. And leave a comment here or on Guest Post: Photographer Anne Gaskill on “Mothering”or 12 Great Questions for Author Caryn Rivadeneira posts for a chance to win Caryn’s book, “Mama’s Got a Fake ID.” I’ll pick a random winner on Friday!