Sitting down and feeding my baby is an amazing feeling; when I breastfeed I think about how incredible it is that this now 6 month old child grew from a few gamates, into a zygote and blastula which turned into this amazing little human being. I look at him and think "you're so perfect". I look at him and stroke his cheek and kiss him on the forehead, and I wonder, did my mother ever feel the way about me that I feel about him?
I'm the only child my mother communicates with on a regular basis. Whether by text message, email, phone call, or skype, my mother speaks to me. I feel guilty about this as my siblings who crave my mothers attention and love never seem to get what they want, and it's always been this way. I have spent out of all my siblings, the most time with my mother. Between growing up, the random outings, and now the communication, I know far more about my mother and her reasoning then my other 3 siblings combined. Sometimes, I wish I didn't.
My mother confides in me. She has told me things that both help and hinder our relationship, but she withholds the same information from my siblings, and I really don't know why. I often wonder if she places value on me because I have a solid grasp on reality where she doesn't. I'm strong, I really am, and as I've said, I can empathize with almost anyone. When my mother is having problems, she talks to me about them, and I help the best I can. Normally I think this would be fine, but this is not a reciprocal relationship, at this stage it never will be.
I sit, and I look at my son, and I pledge that I will never ever rely on him for my emotional well being. I'm never going to call him looking for answers to problems I've created for myself. In life, things happen that are beyond our control, but at some point we have to re-assess the things that seem to recur and decide whether or not we are perpetuating them.
When I was born I'm sure that my mother loved me, but I'm also sure that she didn't believe that she'd be looking to me for advice. Sometimes I think that she resents my knowledge, especially when she gets an answer she was hoping to avoid. When I was born my mother loved me, but I was just a child to her, not a person with an opinion. Even now, when I give her my input, she finds a way to belittle my thoughts, the difference being that now I realize she's just trying to cope with the reality that she hasn't grown up yet. Still, she ask's what I think about this idea, or that circumstance, and I feel obliged, but also feel an innate duty, to answer her honestly.
I feed my baby and wonder, what did my mother think her life would be like?