So the strange thing about having a blog is all the things in my life I can’t write about. Or rather, the one thing I can’t really write about, which is also the one thing that I spend hours of every week doing, studying, loving, struggling with, worrying over—which is midwifery. I write about it now and again in vague, general, ways—or by keeping it focused solely on myself. No details about clients, nothing about births, nothing that in any way could compromise a client’s feeling of absolute confidentiality. Which is of course sacrosanct in health care, and for good reason.
So I write about my other life, which is mothering. (There’s my other-other life: writing. And this blog comes from my book , but writing about writing—well, that’s private in a different way.)
And this is a hugely long-about way to say (long-about? Have I mentioned I am an absent-minded mutilator of common English phrases?) that I didn’t mean to offend stay-at-home mothers.
Have you followed that logic?
Many entries back I wrote about being a working mom, and the guilt, the guilt, the guilt. Because I know so many stay-at-home moms, and they’re amazing, they give tremendous love and energy to their children. But I know it’s not for me. I know I start looking at the clock around 2, thinking, isn’t the afternoon going on rather long? So from my own feelings of inadequacy I wrote a feel-good empowerment kind of thing for working moms. But honest, every mother I know—stay-at-home, working, in-between—struggles with balancing their needs & their childrens’ needs. Parenting is hard, wonderful work. We all try to do our best. Some days I feel like an awesome mother. Some days, not so much. The last thing we need is another entry into the Mommy War debates, however, and I certainly never intended to write one.
Phew. Had to say it.
And now: a celebration is in order, because Sima got a wonderful review in the New York Post! How many people read The Post in a given day? I’m guessing it’s more than the entire population of Victoria.