The Different Faces of Motherhood

My friends and I are at the age when many are starting their own families, and so it is a joy for me to see cute pictures of kids on facebook, visit them when I am in Singapore, and hear stories from friends about the early stages of motherhood.

It often amazes me how motherhood seems to bring out extraordinary strength, love and resilience in people. Friends who seemed to be perfectly ordinary mortals before are now selflessly putting their own needs aside for those of their babies. Their lives revolve around their children, and their conversations are about types of milk powder, baby-led weaning, comparisons of different approaches to early-childhood education, etc.

One of my friends commented jokingly the other day, "I used to like sleeping, but now it seems that sleep is for wimps." As much as I personally love sleeping, I am quite happy not to have to wake up for night feedings!

Living here in the Philippines, I also see other contexts in which motherhood calls forth extraordinary sacrifices. Paradoxically, some mothers come to the heart-rending determination that the best thing they can do for their children is to leave them. Facing precarious economic circumstances, many move to the city or go abroad to work, leaving children in the care of extended family as they earn money for their upkeep, sometimes by bringing up children not their own. But this takes a toll on the family, and you hear painful stories about young children not recognising their own mothers when they return, and having to be taught to call them "mama".

Leaving one's children is never an easy thing to do. I used to visit regularly a shelter here where pregnant women in irregular situations - often without family to depend on - could stay while expecting, and in the first weeks after their babies' births. Many of these pregnancies were not planned - some were the product of rape or incest - but never did I see a baby who was not much loved and fretted about. The fierce determination of each mother to keep her baby if she could touched me; and in those cases where the women decided that - for whatever reason - adoption would be best for their baby, it was always a heart-wrenching decision that they would then have to live with and second-guess forever.

One extra-ordinary story of motherhood in adverse circumstances that I have come across here is that of a woman I have known for a while, whom I will call Ate P ("Ate" - pronounced "ah-teh" - means "big sister" in Tagalog and is a common form of address for women here). I first met Ate P in early 2015. She was living on one of the sidewalks behind our house. What drew my attention was that she had two tiny twin baby boys, only a few months old, who were usually lying side-by-side in an old pram that served as their bed and home. They were brown and thin with large eyes that watched you as you went by. Besides the twins, Ate P also had another lovely little boy of around four years old.

The babies were crying loudly one day while I was passing by. I stopped to give Ate P some fruit I was carrying, and in the conversation that followed - made difficult by my very rudimentary Tagalog - I learnt that they had come to Manila from the south after a natural disaster and found themselves stranded on the streets in the big city. Ate P was hard-pressed to find milk for the babies, which she fed to them mixed with water that had been used to wash rice.

I stopped by regularly after that, bringing milk powder when I could. Ate P's resourcefulness never failed to surprise me. Often she would show me happily some new acquisition: a bicycle and sidecar to put the babies in when they outgrew the pram; soft mats that they could crawl around on when they started learning to crawl; coloring materials for her older child who was now attending a charity school. She also made friends in the neighbourhood. They would watch the babies for her when she had to go somewhere. When typhoon season came, a jeepney driver allowed them to sleep in the empty jeepney at night. Her older son would sometimes watch TV in a neighbour's house.

I still remember the glow of pride in her face one day when she showed me how the babies could now "open" and "close" their hands when she said "open" and "close"!

After I left for Indonesia in the later part of 2015, I didn't see them again for more than two years. Just recently, having returned to Manila, I was walking down the street when I heard a familiar voice calling my name. It was Ate P. Around her, playing, were two lively little boys - the tiny babies now much bigger and full of life. One of them smiled at me brightly and said, "hello!"

I was amazed to see them. We exchanged greetings, and then Ate P said that she had just recently sent her older boy to stay with his grandmother in the province. I didn't get a chance to ask her more about that, but could imagine that behind her casual tone must have been a wave of mixed emotions. What a heart-wrenching decision it must have been for her to part with her son - even though it meant he was off the street and had better prospects for an education - while she stayed here with the younger ones. While not fully understanding their situation, knowing Ate P and her fierce love for her children, I knew that she would not have made that decision if it had not been the best of the very limited choices she had in her power to make for them.

Walking home after that meeting, it struck me suddenly that Ate P and I were probably around the same age. I had never realised that before because her wiry frame and weathered skin - and her motherhood - had always made her seem older.

And yet our life paths could not have been more different!

Food for Thought:
What are my experiences of motherhood – of mothering children and being mothered?
Most mothers want the best for their children, and yet the choices available to them vary greatly in different economic and social contexts. How am I invited to let that touch me today?