Unsweetened
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Last Friday, I spent time with three different newborns. Babies who belonged to my little sister and two good friends. The final stop on my Baby Crawl was Starbucks. My good friend and I sat at one of those small tables, sipping our caffeinated beverages of choice, while her darling girl slumbered in her stroller. We sat there, face-to-face, and talked. We talked about predictable things. Babies and motherhood. And family. We talked about how hard it can be, this parenthood business. How exhausting and complicated and heart-wrenching. We talked about how being a mom means parting with control and sleep and order.
And as we talked and talked, my mind danced as it tends to do. And it made a revealing poetic detour. And it occurred to me that it is up to us to keep things real, to be honest, to fight the tendency to sugarcoat bitter things. Because as much as we love our sugar and our Equal and the completely-and-utterly-non-carcinogenic Splenda, sometimes when we use too much of these things, it stops tasting like coffee, or tea, or whatever it is we are drinking. It stops tasting like what it actually is.
Is up to us to tell unsweetened stories.
Because not every baby sleeps through the night. And all babies cry. And teething sucks. And all moms cringe. And toddlers act up. And buttons are pushed. And sometimes fragile things like wineglasses and expectations are shattered. And sometimes, say, that glorious living room where you used to host civilized cocktail parties ends up covered in Cheerio powder and shredded lettuce. Because parenthood is not all coos and claps and winning smiles. It is always delicious, but not always sweet. Let’s not pretend otherwise. Pretending does not make us better, or more loving, or more perfect, mothers.
Recently, my Cheerio Compatriots Lindsey and Mama each stepped up to the plate and told her own delectably unsweetened story of modern motherhood (Hi, Mixed Metaphor. Nice to see you again.) Click here and then here to read their words and to see what it really means to be a parent.
Kudos for keeping it real but I want to know…does this mean no splenda/equal in your coffee??
A great thought. Let’s not take reality from our lives.
Can we actually make ourselves believe it when we pretend that our life is something else than it is?
On the other side, don’t people expect silver lining from us?
How many of those we know really want to hear our grievances?
I think only real friends can take that. And you’re lucky if you have one nowadays.
Lauren – I hate to say it but I am a complete and unabashed Splenda addict. From time to time I try to go the sugar route but it just doesn’t dissolve. I continue to convince myself that Splenda is a-ok, but I know deep down that I am likely fooling myself. And that there are expert souls on the matter (like you!) who will hopefully teach me the lesson before I pay the price!
P.J. – You ask a very interesting question, namely whether after a while we can start to genuinely believe our own fictions. I think it is indeed possible and frankly, in this fake-it-to-make-it city of mine, I see it all the time. I see women, mothers, who toil to maintain the illusion that their life adheres to a strict and satisfying schedule, that their kids are obliging and perfect, that they are always at the apex of happiness. And often I see that they really believe these outrageous things. I do think that people like to hear sunny stories, but I also think more people than you’d think have a tolerance for authentic stories that are not lined in silver. No, people do not like endless grievances or sob stories, but I do think people even crave and can relate to genuine stories of imperfection and real life.