In response blackballed

In Response: Blackballed

I’d crossed over into Liz Berry’s the Republic of Motherhood but found it all a dream, a misconception, a misperception, I’d signed on the dotted line and initialed in the box, checking mother. Mother. Mother to be. Mother in preparation. Mother in training. There was no box for mother, maybe. I’d been given a uniform in exchange for my old clothes, a badge, a new name, and a new name tag. Mother’s Republic 54311. I turned in my freedom at the gates of motherhood. Joining the collective, the equality, the fraternity of motherhood. Resigning from parties, skinny jeans, and youthful indiscretion. With hesitation but love I prepared to enter the kingdom, the queendom, a new strange world. I’d signed on the dotted line. Initialed in the box.

Neglecting to read the fine print.

I entered the open gates of motherhood. Yes, I, too, had been expected to wear the uniform, to complete the working hours, to participate in the waking hours. Yes, I, too, put on the uniform, replaced my heels with flats, said yes, to sleepless nights and midnight feedings. All this never truly understanding what it was I’d signed up for. Motherhood. What of motherhood. The job description, the duties and responsibilities.

A mystical creature. When all at once I was asked to leave the republic of motherhood. Resign from the republic of motherhood. A ban on us, a ban on me. Excluded and rejected from staying within the land of motherhood. Discouraged from becoming a member. They’d attempted to close the gates. Locking me out. Locking us out. The worries and the woes, isolation and deprivation. Each week, every week, I’d set my watch to the time, their time, I’d lost control of my time. Like generations of women before, I’d entered a space of uncertainty, my status as a mother pending. Status.  Postponed.

Enter the void.

Swayed, no, I signed on the dotted line and there my name shall linger. My motherhood, suspended. Indefinite. The day came. I awaited their congratulations, awaited their welcome to the empire of motherhood. No, we regret to info you, you have not been selected. Have not been chosen to sit within the throne. Ostracized. My signature had vanished; no trace could be seen. I know I checked the box, the right box, the motherhood box. My check had vanished; no trace could be seen. No breast pumps or pushing of prams. No invitation will be extended. Please do not rsvp. No, the gates of motherhood were closed, locked, boarded shut to me from my own motherhood. The sign said you must return your uniform, you must resign your badge, your new name is now a memory, a mystery. Did it even happen. No, we regret to inform you, no honor is bestowed, no honor you have had.

Blackballed from the republic of motherhood; The rules are strict and conditional. You must have forgotten to read the fine print. Did I read the fine print. Please, read the fine print. Initial in the box.