Well that’s just marvellous.
The motherhood at its finest, I must say. Actually not just the motherhood, but what I
guess is usually referred to as “the sisterhood”, you know, women supporting
each other, looking out for each other, empathising and generally being “good
eggs” as far as each other are concerned.
As someone who believes in the saying “if you can’t say anything nice
don’t say anything at all” (to a fault, probably) I have been pretty staggered
over the past few days at just how thoughtless people can be in what they
say. Maybe there is an argument – no
doubt imported from the US of A where everyone is encouraged to be frank with
each other – that it is better to speak your mind, anything else is bad for
ones’ self and dishonest vis a vis the person you are speaking to. But surely this does not mean dispensing with
any kind of filter, the little voice that says “hang on, maybe now isn’t the
time/ this isn’t the way to say it/ I’d better just shut the fuck up”?
Picture the scene earlier this week: gorgeous afternoon at the local park (always a
bit tricky as I have a child that goes one way – at speed, on a scooter – and a
dog that goes the other, made more tricky by my blooming bump and consequent breathlessness/ inability to move anywhere
faster than at walking pace) and a nice chat to another mum of 2 about dogs,
age gaps between kids etc, who then starts telling me how awful she found it
going from one child to two. Now I truly
am all for women being honest about the trials of motherhood instead of
presenting a glossy Stepford sheen of perfection, but surely it is thoughtless
at best to launch into a tirade about how hard the transition from 1 to 2
children is when speaking with a woman you know to be (very) pregnant with
their second child?
Ironically what I find to be happening at the moment is not
so much a competition to be the most immaculate parent with angelic children
who all slept through from 6 weeks and are a guaranteed delight at every
mealtime, but a competition to be having the hardest time of it. To every “oh we had a bit of a rough
Christmas, Rosie was really ill poor thing”, you’ll get “oooo I know what you mean. Both of mine were in A&E, then I got ill
but still had to cater single-handedly for our entire extended family of 16
with nothing but a packet of crisps and half a cocktail sausage to feed them
on.” We seem to have lost the ability to
recog nise when we stop being supportive of each other and start on
one-upmanship. And frankly when you are
already struggling and feeling a bit low, the one thing guaranteed to make you
feel like throwing in the towel is being made to feel that actually you have it
easy and have nothing to complain about – at least you got 3 hours sleep last
night, mine were up ALL night and ALL day...you get the idea.
It reminds me of that Boots advert that was on TV last year
– the two mums meet on the street comparing snotty noses and Christmas lists of
Things To Do. All very amusing – yes, we
nodded sagely with a wry grin on our faces as we recognised the female ability
to soldier on and Get Things Done – but part of me thought “Which one came away
from that feeling smug that she actually had it worse?”.
I don’t know whether
it is a habit we have slipped into as a misguided way of trying to engender a
feeling of solidarity, but maybe sometimes all people need as a sympathetic ear
and a big piece of cake. Unless of course
that cake was made while you had your arm in a sling, having made Sunday lunch
for 8 while the children both had tonsillitis and your husband was working all
weekend...
PS as if by magic, and perfectly illustrating my rant above,
on checking my Facebook account a friend had responded to my general “grrrr”
about the day by telling me how much harder hers had been. I can only imagine I was meant to compare
myself unfavourably with this Superwoman and count my blessings....
