The Total Mother

The following is an essay written by my mother, Rebecca Dotson Lynes, who passed away in 2014.

She wrote this piece sometime after January of 1983.

I found it years ago, tucked away in a box of old pictures, and I still refer to it on days when I'm dangerously close to falling off the edge of the Cliffs of Motherhood Insanity.

I always thought my mom was pretty perfect. It's reassuring to know that she was at peace with her flaws.

The total mother begins her mystical journey the moment the doctor, nurse, lab or EPT indicates "pregnant." The first-time total mother is never morning sick. Her skin glows. Her hair shines. She is utterly the picture of health. She can wear any lovely maternity fashion and look fabulous. Her skin does not hue eternally green.

She plans ahead solemnly for the coming event. She cooks and freezes meals. She orders diaper service. She does not wash out the flame retardancy in her child-to-be's clothing. Feverishly, she practices her controlled breathing. She exercises (in moderation, of course). With all her heart she truly believes in this thing called "natural childbirth." She begins touring colleges and universities.

On D Day she feels the first contraction and smiles knowingly to herself. As she feels the gentle trickle of amniotic fluid run down her previously shaved leg, she calmly-ever so calmly-informs her husband that the time is near. With amazing coolness, she guides him to the car. At the hospital, she remembers her name, her insurance company, and the name of her OB. She settles into the labor room in anticipation.

She refuses drugs.

While in the midst of active labor, the soon-to-be total mom remembers her manners. She does not strike or threaten her husband or any other member of the hospital staff. She labors stoically. She remembers to bring and make use of her focal point.

She refuses drugs.

After a respectable amount of time and suffering (this is a total woman, not a super-woman) she delivers a lovely daughter. The total mother has a quiet hospital stay and does not cause any trouble for the floor nurses. She continues to believe in natural childbirth.

Shortly, she takes her baby home and begins, in earnest, to practice total motherhood. She sterilizes everything. She allows no one near her child unless they have a note from their doctor assuring good health. She somehow finds time to shower, dress, and speak intelligibly, at least three times a week. Often she acknowledges the existence of her husband. She stumbles from her bed in the wee hours of the morn to nurse the child and never loses her way to the child's room.

As the months go by, she assembles her daily routine to feeding, changing, and bathing her baby. Gradually she is able to incorporate housework into the routine, and eventually, she remembers how to drive the car.

As the baby matures and begins to explore the house, the total mother gets down on her hands and knees and meticulously scours the rooms and seeks out hidden dangers.

By this time she has become so total that she can wear a burp pad over her shoulder and make it seem as though it were part of her ensemble for the day. She can even balance her child on one hip while performing amazing feats with her other free hand. She begins to sleep through the night.

As the months pass, the child begins to bloom. She walks. She talks. The total mother learns patience. She can answer questions faster than her child can ask them. She discovers nursery school.

She discovers...or rediscovers...quiet.

She soon learns how to discipline with a firm but gentle hand. She can set limits without ever raising her voice. Her lovely daughter revers her. Her friends are awed at the cool, collected way she delivers punishment.

When the child reaches school age, the total mother becomes the PTA [president]. She organizes. She raises money. She leps with homework. She is a carpool. She creates Halloween costumes out of a single bolt of material. Her cookies are at the bake sales. She sits joyfully through spelling bees and school plays. during times of illness, she puts Flo Nightengale to shame.

She never runs out of milk.

To become even more total, the total mother decides to have a second child. A loving playmate for her daughter.

She is shocked out of totalness when she needs maternity clothes before the rabbit is officially declared dead.

Her fingernails swell.

She begins to take on a greenish hue. Her husband and cherished daughter avoid eye contact with her at all costs.

In her fourth month, she takes to her bed. Her mother-in-law is summoned to the home to "help out". As a result, this mother (who by now has become sub-total) will never again receive another useful Christmas present from her mother-in-law.

By her ninth month, this mom has decided to give up natural childbirth. She begins to believe that there is absolutely nothing natural about it. She discusses the use of analgesics in labor with her OB.

While at the supermarket one day (out getting some fresh air) her bag of waters breaks. She screams for an ambulance. At the hospital, she forgets her husband's place of employment and her first-born's name. While in labor, she throws casual insults to anyone who dares come near her bed.

Her doctor discusses a lobotomy with her husband.

She demands something for the pain.

Soon (but not soon enough) she delivers a screaming little boy. Her husband (who has taken cover in the doctor's lounge) is ecstatic. (He is also [too] embarrassed to come out of the lounge).

As soon as possible, the hospital boots her out the door. Her daughter demands that the baby be returned and a complete refund be given.

She learns all about colic. She forgets her name, her address, her phone number. She begins to fall asleep on the john.

She sinks into postpartum depression. She feels defeated. She feels sub-total.

And then one day while on her knees beside the sofa (she has been on the search for the baby's pacifier), it occurs to her that PERHAPS SHE IS NOT SUBTOTAL AFTER ALL. Perhaps she is normal. She is human. She walks to the window and peers out. Her daughter is pushing her son in the baby swing. She is singing to him: a sweet, lovely little song. They are smiling. They seem happy.