This is really good news —– that an organisation in Bengaluru is marking International Women’s Day by handing a single young father the award for Mommy of the Year sometime today. While I will defend to the death the concept of “mommying” being absolutely crucial to the mental and physical health of a child, I am happy to acknowledge that daddies as mommies is right and good.
Consider what it entails, the close and intimate knowledge of your child as an extension of yourself at first. The separation comes later, along with growth and development, but in the early stages, it is better that two bodies share one heart!
What I have discovered in my lifetime is that men can achieve this wonderfully nurturing relationship with ease, and indeed, many want to be hands-on parents to their children but don’t know how or are discouraged from doing so. This is why it is so important for parents to listen to each other as they discuss their roles vis a vis their children.
I discovered early on that my own approach to parent was rather — muscular. This was in part because my baby swiftly sent me into a blue funk that I myself could not understand.
Every time he turned his (to my imagination) baleful eyes upon me, I felt he had sussed out my soul and found me wanting. Resentfully, I would want to tell him I found him wanting to, but I didn’t dare. Sleep, both his and mine, were the biggest casualties.
Enter his father, who, from the very beginning, seemed to have no problem at all with forming and sustaining a relationship based on the closest knowledge of how his son woke, slept, ingested formula and evacuated it.
His big hands were gentle as he changed nappies that I gladly washed and the casual dexterity with which he plastered that fractious, wriggly little body to his chest, bringing it instant calm made me bite down on my nails and ask what…why…how come.
He was fearless and until I incorporated that aspect into my own mommification process, the bonding failed to happen.
Then it did, but throughout those early years, my style remained less than ideal doting mommy, more like brisk and businesslike carer on the outside, with the marshmallow me tucked safely inside.
This is what enabled me to separate myth from fact, the biggest discovery being that there is no such thing as quality time, there is only quantity time. So we spent long hours together, doing our own things separately and occasionally touching base, all in the same space, of course.
Time with Daddy was different, with communion of a high order and much chit chat. And at night, sleeping in the same big bed, he was always drawn to his father like a magnet, no matter that we even changed positions. Sometimes I worried — shouldn’t he be seeking me even in his subconscious? What kind of mommy was I turning out to be? Thankfully, he has turned out fine, which means he got plenty of mummying when he needed it from both of us. And a couple of days ago, he paid me the ultimate compliment.
“You know,” he said, “now I understand what you meant when you said you used to feel helpless with fear when I was little, because you didn’t know how to protect me or whether you could”. Yep, he’s finally going to be a daddy and it looks like he’s feeling decidedly like mommy.
And no, he’s not a confused atma. He’s a fused atma, at peace with both sides of his remarkable self.
