Not being a "baby person"

I'm not a "baby person."  I think other people's babies are cute, but I'm not dying to hold them or play with them.  Sometimes I forget to offer to let other people hold my babies because I forget that most people, unlike me, actually like to hold other people's babies.  Sometimes I'm taken off guard when people offer to let me hold their babies because it's not something I was wanting to do, although I don't mind.

Not being a baby person hasn't kept me from being madly in love with my own kids.  I love cuddling, hugging, and kissing my babies.  I love the smell of my babies when they're not perfectly clean - there's no sweeter smell to me than that mixture of baby sweat, baby saliva, and milk.  (Only on my own babies, though - I prefer clean, Johnson & Johnson soap smell on other babies not my own.)

Anyway, I wonder how being a baby person affects one's parenting and parenting skills.  Do baby people have better maternal instincts?  Does it even matter?  I'm crazy about my kids, so I don't think I would love them any more if I were a baby person, but maybe I would interact with them differently.

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The mask I wear

It starts as soon as they begin to speak.  The first time my daughter said, "No Grandma!" I immediately shushed her.  We must be polite to others!  And she learned to be polite, but she also learned to put on her first, little mask.

Image: Adell Rucke

Later, we learn that the mask not only protects others but also protects us - from the rejection that might happen if others knew our deepest fears, our inner sufferings, our greatest dreams.  So we put the mask on a little more frequently.  And it starts to feel more comfortable, so that this mask, which was meant to hide who I really am, becomes a part of me.  I don't even have to put it on anymore because it's always there.

Sometimes when I talk to other people, I wonder, what's behind that mask?  Does she ever feel unsure of herself?  Does she wonder what the purpose of her life is?  Does she sometimes just want to run away?  Sometimes, there's a small, very small crack - just a faint look in the eye or a falter in the smile.  But most of the time, the mask is seamless, airtight.

When I started this blog, I wanted to take off my mask so that other women would have the courage to take their's off, too.  Because I have all this sadness, guilt, frustration, and anger that just wants to get out of me, but there's also love, sacrifice, joy, and beauty inside of me, too.  The mask keeps it all in and only lets out a sterile version of me.

But when I sit down to write what I really want to say, I start censoring myself immediately.  I don't want to make so-and-so feel bad.  I don't want my kids to read this someday and misinterpret what I mean.  I don't want to discourage my brothers and sisters in Christ.  I don't want to dishonor God.  Raw is good but raw can also be hurtful.  And by the time I'm done writing, I've written something with a lot of inspiration but very little of my heart left.

Don't get me wrong, I love inspiration.  But how do we also be real with each other?  How do we take our masks off without killing each other?  Maybe as long as we live in this broken world with our broken hearts, we can't.  So for now, I'll keep this mask on.  Because it holds together my brokenness.  And it keeps me from trampling on you and breaking you more than you already are.

So...all this is a very long and dramatic way of saying that I might be changing the content and format of my blog soon.  I'm just so tired of struggling.  What about you?  Are you comfortable with your mask?  Or do you wish you could take it off every once in awhile, let your heart breathe a little?

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Overprotectiveness

My parents rarely let me attend school dances.  They were typical strict, overprotective parents.  Unfortunately, I was part of the leadership council of the anti-drug club that put on several dances as fundraisers.  Attendance at dances was mandatory for those on leadership.  I dreaded telling our club sponsor that I couldn't attend the dances.  She was a stern woman who rarely smiled.

I lied to her every time.  My relatives were coming to town, or I was attending a rehearsal for something.  I wondered if she would see through my lies, if she would reprimand me for not attending yet another dance.  But she always just nodded her head and let me go.

Image: Michael Elliott

Now that I am a mother, all I want to do is protect my children from the darkness of this world.  I don’t let them watch any violence or read about anything scary, even fictional monsters in children’s books (besides "friendly" monsters). I once turned on the TV and accidentally let my two-year old daughter watch part of a nature show featuring a crocodile snapping at some fish bait. When she had night wakings the following week, I just knew she was having nightmares about crocodiles.  I blamed myself.

It makes me sad that my parents' overprotectiveness drove me to lie.  I take responsibility for my lies, but I also hope that I can somehow protect my kids in a manner that doesn't put them in that type of situation.  If my parents had known I was lying, I think I would have just gotten into more trouble, and they wouldn't have understood why I felt so ashamed.  I hope that I will have the wisdom to balance my desire to protect my kids but also to be sensitive to their social needs and to trust God for their protection.

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