We, the Mama Martyrs

We, the mama martyrs, will never admit that this is who we are.

We, the mama martyrs, are terrible at accepting help. We think we are somehow lesser mothers, or not entitled to sport that badge of honour, if we don’t do everything – everything – ourselves.

We, the mama martyrs, will make excuses, over and over, for why we have to keep essentially torturing ourselves, and running ourselves into the ground, because it is for the sake of our children, and more importantly, because that’s what a good mother does.

We, the mama martyrs, need to stop. We need to stop.

mama

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The Universality of Motherhood

The universality of motherhood has a tremendous power to unite.

Let me tell you a little story. Earlier today, I decided to take the girls down the road to a nearby mall. Tuna appears to have outgrown all of her clothes overnight so I needed to take her shopping.

It’ll come as no surprise that shopping with a toddler and a baby is not the most peaceful of activities. Eventually, Puff started crying because I’d been so focused on trying to get Tuna to try things on (which I confirm is torture for both the parent, and the child) that I’d forgotten to feed her since we left home. So I put her in the stroller and swung Tuna onto my back in the carrier and headed to the parents’ room.
You see – we’ve only been here just over two weeks. I still haven’t figured out the protocol in Jakarta when it comes to nursing in public. It’s a new place. It’s a different culture. I want to respect my surroundings as much as I can. I’ve nursed in public before with a nursing cover, but so far, I haven’t seen anyone else do the same. Plus, the baby and I both hate the damn thing.

The parents’ room was large with several changing stations and places to sit. Tuna ran around and kept threatening to head straight out the door while I desperately tried to get her to sit still so that I could keep an eye on her while I tried to calm my baby. I frantically started searching for the nursing cover in my bag when I noticed a mother sitting across from me nursing her baby, without a cover, and totally comfortable.

That was all the confirmation I needed. Forget the cover. You didn’t have to ask me twice.

I relaxed and settled into it and the baby was happy. The lady and her friend interacted with Tuna. We all exchanged smiles at each other. The toddlers high-fived each other. Tuna tried to run out the door again at one point and another mother guarded it and tried to distract her while I changed the baby.

We didn’t speak the same language. We came from different backgrounds. We didn’t know anything about each other and didn’t necessarily have anything in common.

Except that we were all mothers. And in that moment, we were all part of the same village.

I love that the universality of motherhood transcends language, culture, religion, and things that sometimes divide people.

It was a simple, everyday situation, but it made me appreciate that despite all of our differences, so many of the things we go through as mothers, are the same.

So, thank you to the mom that made me feel like it was totally okay to nurse without having to cover up because she knew that sometimes using a nursing cover results in a shrieking baby who attracts even more attention than if you tried to nurse without one;

To the mom that stopped to help me clip the back strap of the baby carrier because she knew how wriggly a 4-month-old can be;

To the mom that held my toddler back from jumping onto the road while I was loading up the taxi because she knew how you never have enough hands when you’re with the kids;

To the mom that gave me an empathetic smile while I tried to wrangle a tantruming two-year-old in the supermarket because she knew that kids choose only the most public places to have the most demonstrative performances;

To the mom that gave me an understanding look while I carried the toddler on my hip and pushed the baby in the stroller, because she gets that sometimes the big one wants to be the baby for a change;

Thank you.

I’m sorry that you’re not going to be an only child anymore.

The countdown is on. We have about six weeks until baby #2’s expected arrival.

Of course, I’m ridiculously excited to meet this new little person, but so much of it is still surreal. The fact that a second pregnancy goes by so much faster than the first makes it difficult for the whole thing to sink in properly. Every day, it registers a tiny bit more that we’re headed to Newbornville very, very soon.

And with each passing day, all I can do is feel my heart break a little bit more for Tuna. Continue reading

Get thee to a kitchen, stat.

It’s cookie o’clock, folks.

I know, I know, two blog posts in the space of less than two days: it’s a little ambitious for me, but hey. We’re stuck indoors again thanks to It Which Shall Not Be Named and Mama’s feeling like doing some [more] baking.

Today we’re baking one of my absolute favourites: white chocolate and cranberry cookies. Yum. 

Let me just put this out there right now: these are not sugar free; in fact, they contain two different kinds of sugar. These are not fat free. These are not low-carb, nor are they packed with any trendy ingredients like chia seeds or kale. I mean, they’ve got dried cranberries in them, so if you want to feel virtuous and buy the “Reduced Sugar” Craisins then you go right on ahead and do that.

But gosh, just look at them. Aren’t they pretty? These turned out so yummy that I’m baking a second batch this afternoon once Her Highness awakens from her middle-of-the-day slumber.


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