While reading a friend’s blog entry about Mommy blogs, I followed a link to Ayelet Waldman’s 2005 article for the New York times called Truly, Madly, Guiltily where she talks about her relationship with her children and her husband. As she puts it, she loves her children but is in love with her husband, a claim I can understand and hell, even agree with.
However unlike most women, Waldman claims, her life does not revolve around her children but instead, revolves around her husband. Um, okay. And then, this:
An example: I often engage in the parental pastime known as God Forbid. What if, God forbid, someone were to snatch one of my children? God forbid. I imagine what it would feel like to lose one or even all of them. I imagine myself consumed, destroyed by the pain. And yet, in these imaginings, there is always a future beyond the child’s death. Because if I were to lose one of my children, God forbid, even if I lost all my children, God forbid, I would still have him, my husband.
But my imagination simply fails me when I try to picture a future beyond my husband’s death. Of course I would have to live. I have four children, a mortgage, work to do. But I can imagine no joy without my husband.
God forbid she find any kind of joy in her children, who are the part of her husband who would still be living. God forbid she could find any joy in them.
God forbid Ms. Waldman’s husband ever die. I’d feel so sorry for children whose mother couldn’t find joy in them, despite her own saddness.
And if my children resent having been moons rather than the sun? If they berate me for not having loved them enough? If they call me a bad mother?
I will tell them that I wish for them a love like I have for their father. I will tell them that they are my children, and they deserve both to love and be loved like that. I will tell them to settle for nothing less than what they saw when they looked at me, looking at him.
I know that closing is supposed to be poetic, even poignant. How awesome her love for her husband must be, above the love for her own children. But correct me if I’m wrong here but basically, she is saying she would tell her children to find a great love for themselves like she had for her husband, never settling for less than that love. Never mind that she didn’t show them that love herself. That’s supposed to make it better?
Nope, sorry, not buying it. At the root of it all, it seems to me that Waldman considers the love for husband and love for children to be mutually exclusive. Because, God forbid! a woman could love her husband and her kids in a way that doesn’t put one above the other.
Admittedly, the love you have for your child/ren and your partner are two different types of love. But just because they’re different means you love one more than the other or that one love means more than the other. The whole notion reminds me of those fights I used to have with my sister. “Mommy loves me best!” I’d yell as I would stomp my feet, as if to prove a point. (Yeah, I was a brat.) Our mom would step in and say, “No, I love you both the same.”
My love for my husband and child are two very different but similar feelings. I grew to love my husband but I fell in love instantly with my child. The Hubster ™ and I are equal partners in life; I am The Little Empress’ minion, teacher, feeding trough, pillow, etc. My relationships are vastly different from each other, neither more nor less than the other.
Has the ardor that I once felt for my husband diminished or been completely replaced by my overwhelming maternal feelings for my child, as proposed by Waldman? Uh, no. For one, ardor is not a word I’d use to describe what my husband and I feel for each other. (Or at least, not a word I could use with a straight face when thinking about our relationship. OOOOH. HOT BURNING PASSIONATE LOOOOOOOOVE. Gimme a break, I’m so 12 years old at heart.) My non-existant sex life had nothing to do with lack of love for my husband — and frankly, equating frequency of sex to depth of one’s love is just plain stupid if you ask me — and everything to do with my perpetual sleep deficiency and the fact that TLE insists that boobies are her food and not Daddy’s toy. (Ever try to initiate the mood when you’ve got a 1 year old climbing over you, mouth at the ready trying to nurse? Take notes — DOESN”T WORK. This child is the best birth control we ever had.)
So yeah, in my very humble and honest opinion, Ms. Waldman can stuff it.