My Life as a Mormon #3 (Becoming a Mother)
Having apparently taken the appropriate steps to avoid being judged as "unworthy" to be married in the temple, I figured that the potential for criticism by our fellow Mormons was pretty much over. Little did I know that in choosing to remain childless for over nine years was going to be as big an issue for us as not having a temple wedding would have been. We lived at University Village for the first four years of our marriage, during which time I saw dozens of my peers have one baby after another, with the first one typically arriving before the couple's one-year wedding anniversary. Somehow, I'd always figured that most young couples would be like Matt and me -- just enjoying one another, finishing school, starting careers and trying to move into their first home before having children. It didn't take me long to realize, though, that this wasn't the case at all. Once again, I was an exception to the rule. I was different from the rest. Even though I knew I wanted to have children (probably two) eventually, I was in no hurry to get started. With babies and toddlers by the dozens fussing and crying throughout Sacrament Meetings in the University Ward, I struggled unsuccessfully to fit in, and never really felt like I had anything in common with all of the rest of the women in the ward.
I recall a Relief Society lesson one evening (we had "night Relief Society" back then) that must have been something about families and the importance of bearing and raising children. For some reason, the bishop had been in attendance. Perhaps he had even taught the lesson; I can't remember for sure. At any rate, I was feeling pretty emotional by the time the lesson ended, and needed desperately to discuss my feelings with someone I felt I wouldn't judge me but would be able to help me resolve the guilt I constantly felt about my putting child-bearing on hold. At the end of the lesson, after the women started heading for home, I asked the bishop if I could have a few minutes of his time. Of course, he said 'yes' and invited me in to his office. It didn't take me long to get down to business, and I said to him, "What if you just really don't particularly like kids?" I explained how I did want children eventually, but how the pressure to have them right away was really starting to get to me. I can't remember much of anything he said, but I do recall feeling better after our visit, and I do remember him telling me that he'd like to continue to visit with me from time to time to see how I was doing. I thought that was really nice of him. Unfortunately, he was released a short time later, before we'd had even one subsequent meeting. Since the ward was a student ward, he wasn't actually a member of it. Once he'd been released, he would have simply returned to his home ward. We did have a kind of a farewell party for him, though, a month or so after his release. He and his wife came back to the ward and we were all able to personally say "goodbye" to them. When I went up to him to shake his hand and tell him I'd miss having him as our bishop (which was really the case), he responded, not by saying, "Thank you! I've enjoyed being your bishop, Kathryn, and getting to know you better," but by saying instead, "Are you pregnant yet?" I stared at him incredulously and answered, "Uh... no, I'm not." Apparently, my concerns had gone right over his head, as they had everyone else's.
During those nine years, neither Mama nor Papa ever questioned me about whether or not I was "trying" to get pregnant. I'm sure they looked forward to having grandchildren, but never once did they let on that they wished we'd hurry up and get on with it. I can't say the same for everybody else. One morning, when we were living at Fox Point in Old Farm, we were busy getting ready for work when the phone rang. It was Bonnie, calling from California, for the sole purpose of asking why I was not yet pregnant. (This would have been in about 1976, so we'd have been married for roughly six years.) There was no such thing as speakers on phones back then, so I was, of course, only hearing Matt's side of the conversation. It was easy enough, though, for me to tell what it was all about. God, she reminded him, had commanded Adam and Eve to multiply and replenish the earth. In purposefully trying not to have children, we were intentionally trying to thwart His plan for mankind. I lost it; I began to scream that it was none of her business if and when we decided to have children and to shut the hell up. When I explained Bonnie's rationale to Papa, he pointed out that God also commanded Noah to build an ark, and that the next time Bonnie tried to butt into my personal life, I might just want to ask her how her ark was coming. Life as a childless Mormon couple was not easy.
Finally, Matt and I started our family. We did so on our time-schedule and not on Bonnie's or my bishop's or anyone else's. I took six weeks off work after each pregnancy and then went back to work part-time. During the early- and mid-1980s, the Church leadership seemed to be on quite a crusade for mothers to stay home with their kids and not enter the workforce except as a last resort. Women who, for whatever reason, voluntarily chose to work outside the home were not living their lives "the Lord's way." We were selfish. We were greedy and proud. We wanted it all and everything we ended up with, we got at our children's expense. They would invariably suffer because of our self-centered choices. We were a great disappointment to the Lord.
I'd been married in the temple and was the mother of two pre-schoolers. I was starting to feel for the first time that I actually belonged. And now this. I loved my job, and I knew that if I were to quit working and stay home fulltime, I'd be miserable. And if I were miserable, my resentment couldn't help but affect my children -- more, I was sure, than my absence a few hours a day ever would. There didn't seem to be any way the Church would allow me to justify my decision to work outside the home. Wanting us to have a better standard of living than we could have had on just one income, or being able to provide our children with opportunities that would have been out-of-the-question on a single income simply weren't good enough reasons for me to leave them with a baby-sitter -- not even with a babysitter like Norma O'Very. Hardly a day went by that I didn't agonize over my failure to be a "good Mormon mother" or feel the judgmental eyes of certain ward members on me.
During my 30s and 40s, I raised my kids in the Church, and did my best to teach them the values my parents had taught me. I didn't always find church particularly interesting or inspiring, but I did want my children to have the same foundation in the gospel that I'd had. Even at an early age, though, James wanted none of it. I can remember one Sunday morning when he was about four years old. We were busy getting ready for church when he came to me with what he thought was a great suggestion. "Mom," he said, "how about today, instead of going to church, we just stay home and think about Heavenly Father?" Quite frankly, it sounded like a good idea to me; we went to church anyway, though.
I recall a Relief Society lesson one evening (we had "night Relief Society" back then) that must have been something about families and the importance of bearing and raising children. For some reason, the bishop had been in attendance. Perhaps he had even taught the lesson; I can't remember for sure. At any rate, I was feeling pretty emotional by the time the lesson ended, and needed desperately to discuss my feelings with someone I felt I wouldn't judge me but would be able to help me resolve the guilt I constantly felt about my putting child-bearing on hold. At the end of the lesson, after the women started heading for home, I asked the bishop if I could have a few minutes of his time. Of course, he said 'yes' and invited me in to his office. It didn't take me long to get down to business, and I said to him, "What if you just really don't particularly like kids?" I explained how I did want children eventually, but how the pressure to have them right away was really starting to get to me. I can't remember much of anything he said, but I do recall feeling better after our visit, and I do remember him telling me that he'd like to continue to visit with me from time to time to see how I was doing. I thought that was really nice of him. Unfortunately, he was released a short time later, before we'd had even one subsequent meeting. Since the ward was a student ward, he wasn't actually a member of it. Once he'd been released, he would have simply returned to his home ward. We did have a kind of a farewell party for him, though, a month or so after his release. He and his wife came back to the ward and we were all able to personally say "goodbye" to them. When I went up to him to shake his hand and tell him I'd miss having him as our bishop (which was really the case), he responded, not by saying, "Thank you! I've enjoyed being your bishop, Kathryn, and getting to know you better," but by saying instead, "Are you pregnant yet?" I stared at him incredulously and answered, "Uh... no, I'm not." Apparently, my concerns had gone right over his head, as they had everyone else's.
During those nine years, neither Mama nor Papa ever questioned me about whether or not I was "trying" to get pregnant. I'm sure they looked forward to having grandchildren, but never once did they let on that they wished we'd hurry up and get on with it. I can't say the same for everybody else. One morning, when we were living at Fox Point in Old Farm, we were busy getting ready for work when the phone rang. It was Bonnie, calling from California, for the sole purpose of asking why I was not yet pregnant. (This would have been in about 1976, so we'd have been married for roughly six years.) There was no such thing as speakers on phones back then, so I was, of course, only hearing Matt's side of the conversation. It was easy enough, though, for me to tell what it was all about. God, she reminded him, had commanded Adam and Eve to multiply and replenish the earth. In purposefully trying not to have children, we were intentionally trying to thwart His plan for mankind. I lost it; I began to scream that it was none of her business if and when we decided to have children and to shut the hell up. When I explained Bonnie's rationale to Papa, he pointed out that God also commanded Noah to build an ark, and that the next time Bonnie tried to butt into my personal life, I might just want to ask her how her ark was coming. Life as a childless Mormon couple was not easy.
Finally, Matt and I started our family. We did so on our time-schedule and not on Bonnie's or my bishop's or anyone else's. I took six weeks off work after each pregnancy and then went back to work part-time. During the early- and mid-1980s, the Church leadership seemed to be on quite a crusade for mothers to stay home with their kids and not enter the workforce except as a last resort. Women who, for whatever reason, voluntarily chose to work outside the home were not living their lives "the Lord's way." We were selfish. We were greedy and proud. We wanted it all and everything we ended up with, we got at our children's expense. They would invariably suffer because of our self-centered choices. We were a great disappointment to the Lord.
I'd been married in the temple and was the mother of two pre-schoolers. I was starting to feel for the first time that I actually belonged. And now this. I loved my job, and I knew that if I were to quit working and stay home fulltime, I'd be miserable. And if I were miserable, my resentment couldn't help but affect my children -- more, I was sure, than my absence a few hours a day ever would. There didn't seem to be any way the Church would allow me to justify my decision to work outside the home. Wanting us to have a better standard of living than we could have had on just one income, or being able to provide our children with opportunities that would have been out-of-the-question on a single income simply weren't good enough reasons for me to leave them with a baby-sitter -- not even with a babysitter like Norma O'Very. Hardly a day went by that I didn't agonize over my failure to be a "good Mormon mother" or feel the judgmental eyes of certain ward members on me.
During my 30s and 40s, I raised my kids in the Church, and did my best to teach them the values my parents had taught me. I didn't always find church particularly interesting or inspiring, but I did want my children to have the same foundation in the gospel that I'd had. Even at an early age, though, James wanted none of it. I can remember one Sunday morning when he was about four years old. We were busy getting ready for church when he came to me with what he thought was a great suggestion. "Mom," he said, "how about today, instead of going to church, we just stay home and think about Heavenly Father?" Quite frankly, it sounded like a good idea to me; we went to church anyway, though.
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