Unfit

that's going to be a naw for me, dawg.

I’m unfit to be a mother in so many ways
And it’s actually one of the things I’m not ashamed of
I have the opposite feeling, really. I am adamant, defensive
Cause listen, I’m already in deep enough. I'm in the trenches, doing the work because everyone else refuses to. 
Like the great LDR once said, “I’m doing the hard stuff, I'm doing my time, I’m doing it for us, for my family line.”₁
It’s that whole "saging away generational curses" stuff. And by saging, I mean daring to trust others and having a marriage full of excitement and passion (ya know, actually liking my spouse). It means not running from my life, saying what I mean, and checking in on my rage to see what it wants from me.

This is all big business, tiresome stuff. 

And yeah, I get that this labor isn't unique. There are many people life-saging while also raising tiny humans to have more sense than they have. 
And that’s fine for them, admirable, but I just don’t want to. 
I don’t have the bandwidth to take little Timmy (who would look like me because boys look like their mothers, girls like their fathers) to the Wiggles World Tour or be gentle when explaining things instead of screaming like my mother did.

And don’t get me wrong, if one of my licentious nights resulted in motherhood, I would go with the flow and get on with it. Partly due to my religious beliefs and partly because it could be better than expected, and I know I can do it. 
But on a base level, I would not romanticize facing the self-inflicted music. 
I would buck up against it, internally screaming, and who are we kidding – externally screaming as well, v audible, much tears.
And that wouldn’t be fair. 
To me or the universe, to have a new life enter with such…opposition. 
I would want to want a child so badly, like it’s the only thing there is. 
And if that’s not how I feel, then it’s not something I want to toy with because I’m already struggling enough. I can’t imagine my various issues amplifying in motherhood, like cells dividing uncontrollably, as I try to regulate a new normal because what other choice do I have? 

I’d be left grasping for independence that’s just out of reach, my joy blackened by bereavement about the things I didn’t get to do like sleep in for weeks straight, visit all 50 states, be a groupie for Bright Eyes, pull a stack of cash out of an ATM without checking the balance, to spend how I want just because I can. 
I’d be left at the funeral of all my sweet, fun, teenaged dreams and fantasies, that I would watch dry up like sun-lanced prunes, as I rely on everyone to keep me from the edge. “We’re counting on you. Your baby needs you.”

And no, I’m not ignorant that mothers can do everything I named and more. The world is run by mothers who are artists, businesswomen, scientists, homemakers, and the like. But that duality sounds hard, and I don’t want hard. I’m sick of hard. 

A kind lady with a coat and a clipboard said my executive functioning deviates from the control group. Like, obvi. I keep forgetting what I went into each room for (I have probably wasted cumulative years vacantly turning in circles before remembering and going, “Oh yeah, that’s it!”). I was on time for work once last month. I can’t tell my husband what I want to eat without help from a flowchart. The "everyday" basics are unmanageable. I needn't more havoc; I have enough to deal with.

And it's also like Stevie Nicks said, “My heart is soft, my past was rough.”₂ I’m just beginning to let go of the big bad past and discover who I am. I can’t parent a child while in the middle of re-parenting myself (because my mom and dad casually opted out of raising me). So, any happiness I get, I want for myself and myself only. 
Because I do, and I deserve it. 

I’m selfish. I'm learning how to want to be alive. I’m busy chasing the good times that'll become the good ole’ days -- like this beautiful one in Central America, where I’m on the beach with my ass out, drinking espresso. I can't imagine giving up this pleasure, freedom, this moment (or any like it) for anyone or anything. 
and I’m not sorry
I’m unfit to be a mother and I love it that way. 

- M

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₁ Lana Del Rey, “The Grants”

₂ Lana Del Rey ft. Stevie Nicks, “Beautiful People, Beautiful Problems”