I was putting the garbage out late last evening after a lovely evening out with a friend when I noticed the neighbourhood "crazy" person pacing the street, vehemently arguing with someone invisible to me. I realize that it is not politically correct or particularily kind to call some one nuts now a days when they are suffering from a mental illness. I'm not actually sure what the "mot du jour" is for mentally ill people today, but I feel some allowances can be made for me in this case since I suffer from a mental illness myself. Motherhood.
I stood and watched him for a while, while he stood and watched me. I started wondering if we were all that different from each other. We were both about the same age. We each could be found out wandering the streets at all hours. I, usually with a dog or child attached to me somewhere. Him, with his ever present plastic grocery bag. We both could be found talking to ourselves out in public, although I usually don't get into too many heated debates with myself such as he does....at least not out loud.
I started to look at how he was dressed. He wears the same clothes always. He is always clean and tidy, but in the same outfit day in and day out. I am pretty much always in grubby jeans splattered with craft materials and little handprints made with whatever was on the menu from a couple of hours before. My sweatshirts and t-shirts usually have cartoon characters on them with cute little sayings. I am definately the messier of the two of us.
He can be found frequenting the street corner in front of a house that he had one time lived in. In it now resides the new tennant. There have been many since he had last lived there. I have lived in our home now for 13 years. He stands and observes the passing of cars and people on the street. Calmly. Softly speaking to himself. I can be found chasing school buses with strawberry blonde hair flying wildly out of an untidy ponytail dressed in odd combinations of clothing. (If I remember to get dressed at all!) I often can be found sporting penguin, duckie or piggy socks and sandals even though, yes....it's winter in Canada.
I don't talk softly when outside in this wild state. I am yelling. Shouting as if my life depended on it. Chasing a dog out of the street and harrassing children about their choice of clothing and about their non-existent mittens.
I have a bad memory. I can be seen driving to school with forgotten forms, books, lunches after having chased my children onto the bus.
I don't recall ever being this way before I had children. I got married and still I seemed normal then. I took a first step on the road to responsibility and bought a dog. A really big dog. Still, I remained "normal." I had four children within 7 years.
BINGO. I am no longer the normal person I once was. That's what leads me to believe that indeed motherhood is a mental illness. A wonderful one at that, but one just the same.
I'll leave you to draw your own conclusions about who is the crazier of the two of us. I've brought this insanity willingly upon myself. He didn't. 1 in 5 people suffer from some kind of mental illness. Of the ones that don't, many of them are parents. You see, I'm not worried about this because you know what? I'm in good company.
I've heard people say that if an alien race were to look down on people and their animals, who would they think were truely in charge? The dog on the end of the leash leading the person? Or the person walking behind after him picking up his....droppings?
