When I was a child, my parents would often take their favourite music tapes on long car journeys (probably either to drown out the sound of four children in the back or because they hoped that we would absorb their taste in music; now that I’m a parent myself, I think I can relate to both of these possibilities). One of these was the greatest hits of The Eagles. I can remember getting completely freaked out by the song “Hotel California” because of the line “You can check out any time you like, but you can never leave.” The idea of being stuck somewhere forever was almost too horrible to contemplate, and it definitely added a touch of jeopardy to any visit we made to a hotel.
Fast-forwarding some years, this line came back to me one night this week when I was trying to put my two children to bed. My husband was away for work (he knows from bitter experience not to try the “well actually I’ll be working so it won’t really be that much fun” line; the photos he sent showed visible sunshine, so even if he had to spend sixteen hours a day at a conference, I think he still came out ahead), so there was no back-up. My son, who is six, doesn’t like being left alone while his younger sister is going to bed, so he joined us for her bedtime stories. Once the lights were out and the bedtime music had been deployed, the three of us lay in the darkened room, feeling various levels of awake.
Something about darkness seems to make my children extremely chatty. As I held my daughter’s hand and made soothing shushing noises, my son snuggled down on a mattress next to me, took my other hand, and decided to tell me in great detail exactly how much he likes Pokemon and precisely how they evolve. I usually try to show an interest in this kind of conversation, at least in the beginning, but this time it was difficult. The more he talked, the more awake his sister became (she may have been taking notes), and the more tired I felt. As I stared at the ceiling holding my children’s hands and listening to the finer details of exactly how many health points the various members of the Machop family have, that line drifted across my brain once again: You can check out any time you like, but you can never leave.
At first, this line seemed to me to be an excellent description of motherhood. But then I wondered. Maybe the people in the Hotel California have it better?! I mean, sure, they might be trapped in a metaphor for hell and they can’t leave, but they do have pink champagne on ice, and at least they can check out. I don’t think you can really do that as a mother, not completely. One of the things I find the hardest about parenting is this overwhelming sense of responsibility to keep the show on the road. Whatever else I’m doing, being a mum is now an indelible part of my life. Sometimes there’s nobody else there except me, and the pressure to get on with it and get it right can feel overwhelming. Even if I do have time away from it, I still haven’t “checked out.” There’s still part of me trying to keep too many plates spinning, even at the end of a long day during bedtime purgatory. What bags do we need to bring to school tomorrow? What’s the best way to avoid the traffic on the Banbury Road? And what am I going to eat if I ever get out of here?
Eventually, they did both go to sleep. I lay there for a few minutes longer, enjoying the peace and the victory, and then I managed to extract myself from my children’s iron grip and went downstairs to forage in the cupboards. I also texted some mum friends for commiseration and they responded with a gratifying level of horror, which was very validating. I realised that I don’t think I have a solution to feeling like I can never check out from motherhood, but I think I have the next best thing: connection with other mums and sharing the joyful and painful and sometimes frankly surreal things I never thought I’d end up experiencing. Those little moments of humour and levity in what can otherwise feel pretty relentless. Being able to be honest about how I’m feeling and when I’m finding things tough has made the biggest difference to my mental health.
So, instead of the Hotel California, may I recommend the Motherkind Café? It might be a bit less glitzy, and our budget doesn’t stretch to pink champagne, but we won’t hold you hostage, you can both check out and leave, and, best of all, you can come back as many times as you want.