Maternal Instincts

Remember Furbies?  Those little creatures who had some type of computer chip which allowed them to learn to repeat what was said to them, to snore, to laugh?  When they came out, I had to have one!  In fact, thanks to friends and family, I ended up with three.  This was even better; you could have them play together and they'd talk to each other!  Problem is, you actually had to spend time with them, talking to them, playing with them, for them to "learn" these social skills.  It turns out that my attention span for caring for Furbies is extremely limited.  The question is:  Why should this surprise me?

I've never pretended to be a maternal type.  As a small child, my sister and I had the requisite number of baby dolls.  She carried them about, cooed to them, changed their diapers, pretended to bottle-feed them.  The only way I ever played with them was to line them all up on the bed, declare the bed an adoption agency, and make my sister fill out paperwork so that she could take them home.

When it came to non-baby dolls, I was a bit better.  I did actually love my Barbie dolls.  Not that my sister and I could happily play together with those, either.  She thought dressing and undressing them was a great deal of fun.  Really??!!  As the older sister, I nipped that plan in the bud!  No, our Barbie dolls had lives.  We sent them off to college, had them marry (in full ceremonies, using the Episcopalian Book of Common Prayer, and had them throw parties.  (Periodically, I would also insist on gathering all the dolls together so that we could take up all the marbles, which we used for money, and redistribute them equally.  Non-maternal, AND a Socialist - at eight.)

In my entire life, I have never voluntarily held a baby (and only involuntarily once), have never baby-sat or changed a diaper.  When people show me pictures of their babies, I try to smile, but it comes out as a grimace.  So how did people get the idea that I'm maternal?

This doesn't happen with my friends, mind you.  Or if it does, that notion lasts about as long as a cactus in a flood.  They know better!  At work, however, other providers are constantly sending me clients who need "mothering".  They say, "Oh, you're so nice, you'll be perfect for them!"  Or, "They really touched my heart and I know they'll touch yours."  All the while, sending me clients who lack the capacity or the will to do therapeutic work.  Clients who need me to metaphorically pat them on the heads and put band-aids on their wounds.

Don't get me wrong.  I can be extremely empathetic.  With adults.  But if, emotionally, someone is still in kindergarten, I want to put them up on a high shelf with my Furbies and ignore them.

So please - if you ever get the urge to introduce me to someone who needs mothering, squelch it.  Don't be hurt or insulted - this is my issue, not yours.  I just don't want you to be shocked to learn that I don't dry eyes, wipe runny noses or even make chicken soup.  I admire and respect mothers and mother-wanna-be's.  Just think of me as the eccentric aunt who doesn't show up until the child's twelfth birthday!