What hath mommyhood wrought?

Nowadays, a modern person has to be careful about implying that there is anything “unique” about motherhood. After all, you don’t want to imply that someone who is not a mother, or else not a mother in the traditional sense, has somehow been deprived of a unique experience.

The physiological aspects of traditional motherhood – gestating a person, giving birth to them, and then likely going on to nourish them with your body for some time – are pretty damn unique experiences. And there is a reason why people who have had these experiences tend to bond over them the way soldiers do.

But mommyhood, whether biological or otherwise, also affects different people differently. It has a tendency to change people – but in different ways. Some people become mothers – and, as a result, grow intellectually and spiritually and what have you. But motherhood can also expose your fundamental weaknesses and character flaws, and leave you face-to-face with your own shortcomings. Because it is physically and emotionally taxing, because it limits your lifestyle in some very basic ways, it can slough away at your illusions and whatever comfortable mythology you have built up around yourself in your years on earth. When you’re taking care of someone very small and vulnerable, and yet very demanding, you learn a lot about yourself, and not all of that knowledge will be comforting.

You’ll find that you have a lot of work to do on yourself – and not a whole lot of time and energy to do it.

Of course, every once in a while, you also go to the pool:

At the pool, you hand the baby to the husband (who, being a stereotypical husband, loves playtime), and reflect (haw haw) by the water for a bit.

How has motherhood changed me? Well, it has changed my body. It has rewired my brain – and honed my reflexes. It has rewritten something fundamental inside of me, some great big block of code that comprises that entity known as the soul. It has made me more attuned to suffering and injustice – behind every murder victim or every person illegally convicted in a corrupt court, I see someone’s small child, some little smiling face. It has made me more aware of the terror of nature, and the terror of fate, and yet less helpless somehow, because I have a dependent, I cannot crap out. It has made me more aggressive – something I would normally welcome, except that keeping my aggression in check is important when I go home in the evenings, and close the front door, and am alone with my family. The power I now possess must be used wisely, or else it can destroy my relationships.

I take more responsibility and yet live more dangerously. Or that’s how I feel, anyway.

A childless (not to be confused with childfree – that’s not how she identifies herself) friend recently admitted that she was “scared” of me or “scared to end up like [me]” – she wasn’t sure which. I think those feelings are normal. At 25, when I first started longing for a child, I would have been scared of my future self too. She’s got bigger boobs that don’t fit into any of her old clothes, a leaner wallet and a meaner attitude. She can sing “Old McDonald Had a Farm” with a straight face.

😉

Poster for “Katya, Vitya, Dima”

As designed by the lovely Elena Shalkina, who is an artist and filmmaker here in Moscow.

The movie is up for an award in Istanbul next month – in the international category at the TRT Documentary Awards. Alexey and I are really excited to be included in this competition. We’re planning on being in Istanbul in the first week of May for the festival.

Annnnnnd here’s a two-in-one trailer that festival organizers have made available on YouTube:

You know, I’ve been trying really hard to find the right words as to how this movie should be described – and then someone at a party one night just said the following film: “It’s an art house flick – Rural Russia-style.” And that’s a very good – and succinct – way of saying what I’ve wanted to say about it for a while. There’s a tremendous amount of beauty and sadness portrayed here, in very unexpected ways, I would argue, and I’m happy and proud that I’ve been a part of this project (although to be perfectly honest, when my husband says, “We are so doing this” – it’s impossible to say no).

Fun fact

I’ve written a brilliant pop song, called “Such a cutie.” Unfortunately, I can only sing it to Lev to the tune of “Where’s your head at.”

He doesn’t seem to mind.

P.S. When I’m not cuddling him in my free time, I’m writing stuff like this. People keep telling me that it’s hard for them to reconcile my status as a young mother with the kind of columns I write. But I don’t think it ought to be. Young mothers need to keep their eyes on the ghosts. And the darkness.

 

Beautiful people: pretty pictures of women I’m related to, a.k.a. hipsters back in the USSR

I’ve been digging around my family history – the sad chapters of it, mostly. When you’re trying to understand some things about the present, the past can be a helpful place to start.

Then Yuri Nifatov, a family friend, contacted me and let me have a look at his archive. It features a lot of Crimea. Crimea remains a weird, magical place – no matter how many beer tents and high-rise hotels go up there.

My mother, Tatiana (right), and her twin sister Natalya, in Crimea in the 1970’s:

Lady of leisure (otherwise known as my mother):

My mother in Novy Svet, Crimea, the place that can change the trajectory of a person’s life, for better or for worse:

Yuri reads the ladiez a newspaper:

Hipsters are an ancient tradition. Here’s my aunt being one in the USSR:

She also wore ponchos (at least I think that’s a poncho):

And fished in the sea with Yuri (the Black Sea, to be precise. Please note the bathing suit):

When November came, she was known to pout:

But never for too long, because there were bikes to ride (actually, that’s her sister, my mom, riding the bike – but who cares, right?):

These pictures belong to Yuri, and I’m posting them here with his kind permission. If you know me well, you know I’m prone to Dramatic Speeches about my family history. This is the flip-side.