Why I became the mother I am...

Two reasons why I think I turned into the mother I became and which I will now have to ‘un-become’ or risk losing my daughter …

Before “A” was born, I was a half-assed wild thing, which means I stayed out all night, did not drink or smoke, and still made it into work a couple hours later. I partied without the poisons, but nothing kept me home in the evenings. When I got pregnant a month after my Army soldier husband returned from the First Gulf War I still had no idea about the Űber-Mutter I would become. The moment “A” was born (I want to point out that it was a natural birth without any drugs or epidural, my choice) and she looked at me, the deal was sealed. I committed my life to this miracle. But I didn’t expect that I would turn into this too-dedicated, over-involved mother. My parents weren’t like that. But I had a friend who had a Űber-mother and I always said,” if I turn out like Mrs. G, please shoot me.” Nobody did, though, and “A” had to endure not only a helicopter- but also a lawnmower mom, a mother who mows all obstacles out of her child’s way.

The only explanation I have for turning into a mother who my daughter accuses of “caring too much, worrying too much, doing everything for her and thereby giving her the message that I do not believe in her abilities and not seeing how truly amazing she is,” is that,

1)      when I was a babysitter at age 22 (the age my daughter is right now) the baby I watched every other night died of SIDS, Sudden Infant Death Syndrome. An hour before the mother came home from her nightshift as a nurse, I found the baby dead in its crib, had to call 911, then the mother to tell her their son was dead. This is something that will never leave you, even if it’s only present in the subconscious. And

2)      the fact that we left my family and friends back in Germany to return to the United States (military orders) where I knew nobody, his family lived several states away, and I had a four week old infant to care for without help or advice probably made me overdo everything. “A” became the center of my universe. We constantly checked if she was breathing and never went out during the first years of her life, because I didn’t trust anyone. In my mind, a baby could die if left without the mother (she never went to daycare or a babysitter, but I found a job where I could bring her with me until she was eight years old).

We visited Germany every summer. My sister told me several times that I am not giving “A” enough space and she was too dependent on me. It went in one ear and out the other. It took 22 years and my daughter putting down her foot until I got it.

Now I am trying to relax and simply enjoy watching her blossom.