The hidden cults of motherhood

Before my son was born, and thanks to all the women in my life, friends and family I was ready (kind of) for the sleepless and apparently endless nights, the cracked and bleeding nipples, the leaking and babbling boobs, hell, I was even looking forward for the peeing like a renaisance fountain that comes with the little out of control penis of boys. But there was something nobody prepared me for: the underworld of cults that lie unseen to the childless eye. They are every  where in plain sight and apparently have been around for years but unless you decide to reproduce and thanks to social media, you won't be able to tell your regular vegan lady from the only-tofu-for-lunch mom, appart. There are thounsands of them: hardcore organians, the anti formula league,  disposable diapers haters, baby-lead-weaningers, pro gerberers, co beddingers, vaccines-are-the-devil preachers, all things cow enemies, home schoolers, montessorious, waldorfians, constructivismians.  Two years have passed since I first encountered this World and I have lost count of this almost religious groups. But every week, as my son grows, new ones spur. Like gremlins after a shower. If you are a parent or planning on being one, you won't have to seek for them: they WILL find you. I promise. 

Motherhood. Lesson 1

When I got pregnant, the control freak in me was thrilled: I had made it through highschool, college, my first job. Hell, I even got married without a hurry and enjoyed four years of life as a couple. I had done it my way. Then at week 8 a reality checked came: even though I had stayed in bed, slowed down on everything, taken my vitamins, there was no heartbeat. Years later there were lots of reasons, good solid ones, to why that first baby never got to be. However, my heart still mourns him or her, but thanks for The biggest lesson ever: I can not control everything. After almost a year, I finally got "over" (you never really get over something like that) and, in the words of Disney's lattest heroine, I let go. And then, only then I got pregnant without planning it around an iPhone app, was genuinely surprised , shocked my husband and family, let every one took  extra care of me the first trimester and was happy, thankfull and more importantly, relaxed just watching how this kid keeps on teaching me what his sibbling did: that no matter what, he is not mine to control, but only to enjoy. Thanks, kids. 

Where is my heart?

"I wanted to punch him in the face!" "She was crying so hard, I hate the guy!" "He was looking at me in with so much pain, I think he's traumatized and will hate me fir ever!" And so on, and so on. Whenever a mom I know (friend or family) comes back from the pediatrician or look back at "vaccines season" (the first year of motherhood) I've heard this and/or other similar sentences. The thing is that now, every time I have taken my son to get his vaccines, I leave the pediatrician's office wondering "Where did I leave my heart? In the glove compartment? At home, next to the diapergenie?". I don't cry. I don't feel awful when the doctor sticks the needle filled with this demoniac venoms we, oh so irresponsable and missinformed parents of The Second Millenium, now dare to inoculate our off springs with. He cries and I just tell him in my regular voice, that it is a necessary evil. Because it is. I know that. It's a fact, not a choice of belief. I also know that he won't remember, he won't  hold any resentment to me and he will be a healty person. In the meantime, I'll continue to be this insensible woman that society sees completly out of touch with her motherly feelings. Oh, well.