Mother diaries | Mother

 

Where the fuck do you start? Probably not with the word fuck although thats where it all begins isn’t it?

by Amadea West

 
 

Becoming a mother. We all come from the inside of a mother. I am a mother. I had a mother. EVERYONE does. Dogs. Cats. Mice. Murderers. Trump. Fish. The fact is that good, bad or ugly they mean the WORLD to us. They cant help it. It’s just the way it is.

The Mother archetype represents the nurturing caring side of human nature. She is ruler in the realm of emotions and feeling (Sorry Kids) and of course we assume she is a woman due to the physical attribute of a uterus and a vagina, etc etc. Well I have a few thoughts about this nurturing caring emotional ruler idea. We’ve all heard the story of Hansel and Gretal, Cinderella (Introducing the annihilating mother) and if you are of a certain age nobody can forget the mother in CARRIE, so just to clarify things, just because you own a vagina, this doesn’t mean that you get the lions share of the pink fluffy ‘Can I get you something darling’ gene. The verb ‘To Mother’ to me has many many connotations and not all of them positive! To Suffocate, domineer and play narcissistic head games comes to mind. And I could go on but I wont because I am trying to be nice. 

Endlessly cooking copious amounts of delicious food, endlessly cleaning, driving driving driving, picking up socks, washing underwear, folding t-shirts, pants, socks while you are trying not to think about what you really wanted to do with your life, also come to mind. I do have to share something with you as a mother - from the moment your children are born you are pretending that you aren’t terrified that you or someone else is not going to kill them, even accidentally (especially with the first baby), or that they aren’t going to get sick, die, or worse and that they might need therapy because you did such an appalling job. 

Do you know what mothers do? They LOVE. And WE love Mothers. Maybe that’s why I keep the pair of tiny sand coloured tiny teeny timberlands on my windowsill that all of my four children wore. To remind me. And thats why I cry whenever I see a black and white picture of my mother or think about her at the kitchen sink, which is where she lived.

Mothers remind us of the best things we can hope for In life and that is whether they or we do the job imperfectly of perfectly. Mothers generally do the best they can with whatever tools they are given, paws, breasts, hearts and in some cases post 80’s - a lot of self help books and therapy. We all know the that deep down love is all we need. That band from Liverpool told us. We need love and we need mothers love whatever shape that comes in, friends, husbands, pets, sisters, lovers, artists, everyone whoever reminds us that we are loved should be celebrated as a mother, an irreplaceable, irresistible fountain of love.


About Amadea

I’m the youngest of 10 children. I currently live in Burford with my long suffering husband, two of my four children, a dog named after my father and a cat named after a Russian poet. I like the colour blue, hats, bees, trees, birdsong, curry, books, music, being underwater, France, the sea, clouds, sand, drawing, Netflix, candles, marmite, butter and Lily of the valley.

I had my first child in my twenties and my last one in her forties. I’ve had several careers in between breastfeeding my children ranging from producing tv commercials to ghost writing to designing clothes. I’ve currently enrolled in an MA course in Creative Writing at Oxford Brookes where I’ll be looking forward to pretending that I’m 20 years old again with undifferentiated breasts and a very tight pelvic floor.

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