Protector parenting

These are never as good as the entries in my head. It’s kind of like novel writing that way. But, here goes.

I tend to adjust to things in layers. I think this is human, but it may be more so as a multiple.

So first (not that it’s quite that linear, but anyways) I/we adjusted to the physical reality of having a baby, and my/our main concerns were not dropping Noah, breastfeeding, etc. You know, the kinds of things that all parents learn. It was tiring as I imagine it is for most people, but it may have been just a tad more (or less, depending on how you look at it) because we kind of took it in shifts so each one of us who are involved could get at ease with the basics.

Then I/we adjusted as a group. Or to frame it another way, we got our mum selves together.

So we kind of developed multiple-focused competence at the basics – in other words, I hold Noah like this, Magdalynn holds Noah like that; I’m good at tummy time, Lyria’s good at bedtime, but how could we make it fairly seamless and consistent and make sure everything was covered? This is something which you non-multiples may find hard to grasp, but it’s sort of like a team gelling; learning when to keep the ball and when to pass it, etc. This is always ongoing ’cause, of course, Noah’s needs change. But it still was a process of finding each other’s grooves.

(Families and parenting couples do this too, at least healthy ones. Carl and I are working on it, hence the occasional whiny poor-me post about his job, which is interfering with the development of his parenting grooves.)

Now I’m adjusting to parenting as my deeper self.

See, I can go through life half-assed, way more half-assed than a lot of people. And the scary thing is most people can’t tell the difference, because as both a multiple and as survivors of abuse we’ve developed the capacity to pass; to look and feel normal and competent and relatively together regardless of the emotional and spiritual realities underneath. And here language breaks down, because we all wear our social masks and it may sound like I’m talking about that.

But this is more and all I can really do is give examples. In 1994 we married Carl, an act that has been a real blessing in a zillion ways. But to me at that time, that act had the emotional importance of picking up the drycleaning: it was on my to-do list. It wasn’t about me; it was something I had to do… just like all my life things had mostly felt unreal like that, and I hadn’t yet understood that it wasn’t normal.

Or – in 1998 I ‘died’ and I came back in 2000, and very few people had noticed the difference. Now that felt wildly abnormal, not remembering over a year of my life. But life had gone on, “I” had earned paycheques and cleaned the kitchen and exchanged x-mas gifts and everything.

So, when I say I could go through life half-assed I mean that I could make space for other people in the system to be parents; I could remember to pick Noah up at school; I could be there for the school plays… but never really invest me, Shandra, in it. I could wait to be myself – and I don’t mean “wait to party” or “wait to swear” or any other number of things that should wait, but I mean literally wait to be myself – until after Noah’s bedtime.

I personally believe that of everyone, kids do in fact notice the difference (although of much more importance is that their needs are met by anyone), so it would be a loss for everyone. But probably especially for me.

And here’s the thing.

As a person of the type “protector” – sort of like some people are laid-back or hyper or whatever – I tend to resist fiercely any need to change who and what I am. Because ultimately my “job” or role or whatever in the system has been to preserve as much of us as possible against all kinds of pressure and evil doings (I do mean literal evil) on the outside of us. And quite often that’s gotten confused with resisting any ties at all.

But with a child, it’s a tie forever. I mean I know people do walk away but I have no idea how nor do I want to get any idea how.

In the face of hugeness – a lifetime of letting this child into my heart – I occasionally find myself flailing about trying to figure out how to reconcile the different aspects of me. With Emily it was both devastatingly hard, to find more pain and sorrow and loss and aloneness, and horrifyingly easy, because what was needed was my personal capacity to both grieve and to keep going. Not to get past it – you don’t – but just keep going.

And with Noah it’s reversed. It’s hugely easy to love him and want to be here with him. But it is also hard to stick with that and allow myself to soften up a bit and be willing to be “Noah’s mum” – boringly obsessed with poo – and not flail around and find something to fight about, or a crusade.

(Of course as I write that it strikes me that it’s a very feminist problem. And it is: we’ve chosen to be stay at home mum for at least this year and I think that’s right and all that, but I still suffer feminist angst. But no, this is deeper-feeling to me. This isn’t about what I should do; it’s about being upset at myself for caring about breastmilk and quiet nap times and those things.)

But I do care. ‘Cause I am a parent. And it is lifelong and that’s just – it. It’s a done deal. My fierce self-protective side screams: augh! But it’s done. Finished. It has occured.

He’s not outside of what I protect now, but he’s inside.

(Now the challenge becomes not becoming that mum – you know the one. The one that fights everyone “for” her child, when that’s really not what’s helpful. Although sometimes it is. But – anyway, yeah, a post for around when Noah starts playschool. :))

And I think I’ll do it over and have Lohr’s astral babies, because, why not. :)