Motherless Child: Fighting HuMAN Nature

Once again I am in the middle of a two week long absence from my spouse.  You would think that by now I would be fairly accustomed to it, yet it still hits me every once in a while how tremendously difficult it really is.  By now, it is no longer the chore of cooking every meal or even mediating the seemingly constant brotherly discord that makes the task so taxing.  In shedding away the layers, I have finally found out why it remains so difficult for me to adjust.  No matter how hard I try or how in touch with my feminine side I become, I am still not a mother.  It’s not my fault you know.  I have millennia of conditioned DNA fighting against me.  The truth is, I am a guy through and through.   Yes, I fancy myself as more considerate than most and even a fair bit more domestic than many, but there are still things that I simply cannot do.  I can’t mend a broken heart with a caring embrace, I can’t kiss the pain away from a scraped knee, and I definitely can’t cure an upset stomach with a spoon for of love.  I just don’t have it in me.  A broken heart gets a lecture about taking one on the chin and having a stiff upper lip, a scrapped knee gets a compress of dirt and a gruff comment about not being a “pussy”, and worst of all, the upset stomach gets the unsettling “you know, if  you just went ahead and puked you would feel better”.  Don’t get me wrong, my boys need to see the shallowness of my emotional depth.  One day, they too will have children and who depend upon their fatherly strength, so they can’t blubber when they sever a finger, fall apart when things get insulting, and puking simply puts hair on your chest.  They do, however, need their Mom.  I need their Mom.

Despite my fairly gruff response to most whimpers and whines, I feel for the boys when she is not around.  They aren’t men yet and they need not be so hardened.  They are just little boys, despite the way I treat them.  Sometimes they need to be cuddled and made to feel OK in a more supportive way.  And truth be told, they handle their suffering far better than I do as a seemingly helpless bystander.  I would love them to feel better from my hug or stop their sobbing out of something more than fear.  The whole thing makes me feel pretty miserable.  Oh, they are cared for well enough while my wife is away I suppose, kind of like the way a prisoner is taken care of in the slam.  Three hots and a cot.  What more could they ask for really?  They are safe and protected, fed and at least moderately groomed.  Their basic needs are met because I am a guy, and guys are basic.  For now I will just leave it at that.  I have a trilogy of posts that are soon to be minted that delve deeper into this sea of gender roles and attributes and I would hate to spoil the ending at this point in our journey.  I have touched on this topic in the past, but I think it worth fleshing out further as it has an impact on nearly everyone in the world in one way or another.  So, for now I will wish you all a good evening in hopes that I can finish up a couple of more posts before heading to bed myself.  Until next time.  R.