Camaraderie

The second you become a parent, you gain membership to an exclusive group (well, maybe not exclusive because it's pretty easy to become a parent--if you don't know how, you'll need to see me after class). What I mean is that no one understands the ups and downs of parenting like another parent. And I'd wager to say that the same is true of motherhood specifically. Sometimes no one gets where you're coming from like another mother. And yes, I'm making a distinction here between motherhood and fatherhood. Granted, I've never been a father. But from an outside perspective, I just don't think fathering puts the same demands on your soul as mothering does. (Any fathers out there are welcome to dispute this point though.)

I am going somewhere with this. Just bear with me.

Run Like a Mother: How to Get Moving—and Not Lose Your Family, Job, or Sanity came out yesterday. I am very rarely a "have to get this book this instant" kind of person. I have a few authors whose release dates I track, but these days, I am more likely to put books on hold at the library. It's hard to swallow $20 for a hardcover new release that I'm only planning to read once.

But I knew I'd want to actually own a copy of this book, so I went 20 minutes out of my way on yesterday's commute so I could pick up the copy Barnes & Noble had set aside for me (great time-saver, that). The book was so tempting that every time I stopped at a red light, I couldn't resist picking it up and flipping through it--almost always hitting on a bit that sounded so much like me that I didn't want to put it down. I've read books about running before, but this is the first one I've wanted to read cover to cover in one sitting.

Now I know that I barely have any readers who are also runners and I don't (that I know of) have any readers who are running mothers. But still, bear with me because I think maybe I'm going somewhere with this that applies to mothers in general. At the very least, it describes what is for me a very complex relationship: me and running (moms, insert pretty much any activity you do *just* for you in place of running). Here is an excerpt from the book that really hit home with me (and let's hope I am not sued for copyright violation):

The life of a mother is full of nonnegotiables. There's really no choice about cleaning up a puke-filled crib at 3 A.M. It's got to be done....in order to be a runner, you have to make a choice. And that choice is you: you over family, you over work, you over PTA and book club and being the parent volunteer on the field trip to the science museum. You have to decide you deserve to take enough time in a week--2 hours or so, at least--where running, and consequenly you, is the priority.

And isn't that true of pretty much anything we, as mothers, do that isn't related either to work or to childcare? Maybe that's just me and my weird Catholic guilt, but I think this--in essence--is what makes us different than fathers, though I don't know why. Is it our genetic makeup? A martyr complex? Is it solely a working mother thing? I honestly don't know. But it seems to me that our struggle, as mothers, not just to find those two hours a week but to actually TAKE them--without feeling guilty about it--is a topic worth thinking about, worth addressing. Currently, my training schedule demands more than two hours a week. I'd say it adds up to maybe...under four hours? Most of the time, though, I'm trying to fit it in when the kids are sleeping or when I'm on my lunchhour at work, so it probably does only amount to two hours a week where I am actively choosing to take time away from the children. And yet, I can't take those hours, embrace those hours, claim them as my own--even knowing that when I return, it will be as a saner, calmer, more patient person (granted, this newfound sense of peace only lasts a few hours).

I suppose it would be even more difficult if I had a husband who begrudged me these two, four, six hours a week, but I don't. In fact, there have been times when he has almost begged me to go for a run because it's so obvious that I need it.

So I'm asking you: What is it about motherhood that makes us feel like we have to put ourselves last? And do you think that fathers share this same compulsion?