MOM: My Space

Apr 2010 Issue

By Nettie H. Francis
There is no such thing as “my space” for mothers. I’m not referring to the virtual opportunity to share personal information with the cyber world. I’m talking about the physical reality that no one but women fully understand: Mothers have no personal space. They are NEVER ALONE.

The first “space” that mothers sacrifice is when they become pregnant. People suddenly think that your belly is public domain. Perfect strangers may come up, rub your tummy lightly, comment on if you are a “basketball” or a “watermelon” and make predictions about whether you are having a boy or a girl. Grandmas at the grocery store, people you hardly know at church and neighbors you haven’t previously met will suddenly become very vocal about your physical appearance.
“Wow, you’re getting close,” or, “You’ve popped right out!” are common phrases which, believe it or not, are meant to encourage you.

Along with the comments, each of these well-wishers will have a personal story to tell—about their own pregnancy, or anyone else’s. (If you are expecting multiples you may even hear stories about their pet’s pregnancy.)

Once the baby is born, the next “space” to go is at night time.

I was determined that our first baby would sleep in his own bed, in his own room. However, my husband and I soon found ourselves fitfully trying to rest with the baby between us, each of us hugging the few leftover inches on the edges of our bed. With twins, we are now giving up twice as much space, and when our toddler also joins us at 3am, we have half the family sleeping in our room. “Why do we have five bedrooms?” we wonder during these nighttime crunches.

Children also immediately inhibit a mother’s physical space.
One portion of your body (usually your hip) always has a baby attached. And once a baby can crawl, he scoots down to be constantly attached to your knee. As mothers, we must learn to walk dragging a twenty (or thirty, or forty) pound sack of potatoes on our ankle. (Actually, this could be quite productive for weight loss if that’s your goal.)

When another baby arrives, mothers often have an additional hipster as well as the ankle weight. We quickly become very adept at doing laundry, washing dishes, running errands, and generally moving around life with half of our body engaged in carrying—or dragging—another human being. In addition, mothers are one-handed wonders. We can answer the phone, fix dinner, scrub dirty faces, button jackets, vacuum the floor and change diapers, all with one hand. Let the Olympic
athletes out-do that!

No “space” in the bathroom either. The minute I lock the door and hope for some privacy, someone comes knocking to find me.

“Mama, are you in there?” (I wait silently, hoping they will go away.)

“Mama! (The knocking gets louder.) “Can you hear me?”

“I’ll be out in a minute,” I reply. Thirty seconds later the knocking starts again.

“Mama, are you still there?”

“Yes.”
Silence for a moment, and then a few fingers squeeze through the crack under the door.

“Mama, can you see my fingers? How many can you see? I’m wiggling them now. Can you see them wiggle?” I hear paper rustling.

“Mama, I’m sending you a note. It’s coming underneath the door. Is it there yet?”

No “my space” in the bathroom.

What about space in the car?

“Can you drive for a couple of hours?” my tired husband sometimes asks during a long trip. “I need a break.”

“Certainly,” I smile. “I’ll be happy to drive while you rest in the passenger’s seat and field the questions, hand out the snacks, play the music, read the stories, solve the arguments, open the cookies, find the lost shoes, fill the water bottles and take care of any other needs of the eight children in the back of the van.”

No “my space” on the phone. As soon as it rings and I begin a conversation, two or three children appear at my side. “Can you watch me ride my bike?” “I need a band-aid.” “May I have a snack?” “Johnny just took my toy!”

When I sit on the couch to nurse a baby everyone is practically on top of me, squished up close, wanting a story, braiding my hair, playing with the baby.

And, a close observer will notice that mothers never actually eat at dinner time. As soon as we sit down, someone needs their spaghetti cut up, or their bread buttered, or their milk poured, or, the inevitable, they have to go to the bathroom!

No space in the kitchen, no space in the bathroom, no space in the car, no space on the phone, no space on the couch, no space at nighttime. Have I said it before? Mothers are NEVER alone.

When it’s time to go to bed, no one moves until I do. I must hand out the toothpaste, I must comb the hair, I must find the lost baseball pajamas, I must read the stories. After prayers, everyone peppers me with their questions.

“Can I go get a drink? What should I wear to school tomorrow? Will you check my homework?” My husband is home too, but they walk right past him. Moms know everything.

Yet…Despite my lack of space and privacy, I know that someday I’ll wish for little hands under my bathroom door, and three conversations directed to me at once. I’ll want someone to hang onto my leg as I make breakfast or curl my hair. I’ll long for a little body to climb into my bed at 3am, and cuddly stories on the couch. And, after the last baby is born, I’ll miss the grandmother at Walmart who rubs my belly and tells me how many children she had.

So for now I’ll be content to trade privacy, time, and space for real memories and real experiences. They will last forever in my heart, even when my children are gone and I suddenly have plenty of “my space.”