The Other Mother by Jen Brister

Author:Jen Brister [Brister, Jen]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781473562264
Publisher: Random House

12

Unwanted Opinions

First, a disclaimer: I am naturally allergic to other people’s opinions at the best of times, but after the boys were born, my intolerance reached pathological proportions.

When the boys were newborn babies, I felt like I was given unwanted advice like it was going out of fashion. When I first ventured out to the park, or mother and baby groups or cafes, I avoided eye contact with anyone. I couldn’t bear the endless questions and looks of earnest compassion from other mothers. Even small talk felt loaded with dark meaning. I’d get into a conversation with someone that was so bland that I would be lulled into a false sense of calm. Then somehow, I’d suddenly feel obliged to account for my existential purpose in life.

‘Twins! I don’t know how you do it. I struggle with just one! Gosh. I can’t imagine giving birth to two! Good for you.’

Most of the time, especially when they were tiny, I didn’t have the energy to explain. I was so desperate for the small talk to end that I decided not to correct them in case it fired off a whole new volley of questions. I couldn’t be arsed with that, so I’d just tell them:

‘Oh, it was a dream birth, actually. They just slid out. It was completely pain-free.’

OK, I never said that, but I really wanted to.

Other times, I felt obliged to explain my relationship to my children, because I want my family to be visible and I don’t want my boys to feel any embarrassment or shame about having ‘different’ parents.

‘I’m not their mum. I mean I am … I’m just not their biological mum. I’m their non-biological mum. We’re not detergent! Ha ha … What I mean is. I didn’t give birth to them. My partner did. She’s not here.’

Oh God. PLEASE SHUT UP. See what I mean?

I don’t know why this was such an issue for me, it’s not like I felt any insecurity about my feelings for my children: I think it was more that I was embarrassed that I was calling myself a mum without having gone through any of the tough stuff that every biological mother has gone through.

Even with innocuous, inane mother-and-baby-group chit-chat, I’d inevitably end up plunging further down that particular sinkhole:

‘It’s so cold, isn’t it?’ I’d be asked.

‘Yeah, it’s cold alright …’ I’d reply.

‘I’ve had to take blankets out for the kids; another thing to carry – it’s a nightmare! Are those your boys?’

‘Yes.’

‘I’ve definitely seen them around at other groups.’

‘That’s possible, I don’t always go with them.’

‘Oh! I must have seen them with their dad …’

‘Yeah, you might have seen him. He’s short, about five foot two, blonde and a woman.’

Again, I’d never say that, naturally. I’m never passive-aggressive or rude when people make assumptions and think that I’m either the biological mum or have a husband.

I know it’s the twenty-first century and we’re all so forward-thinking and right-on and blah blah blah, but the fact is our family is still outside of what is considered the ‘norm’.

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