After the pick me girls, do you know the pick me daronnes?

After pick me girlsTHE tiramisu. Yes, this term does not exist yet, but it doesn’t matter, we will invent it.

THE pick me girlsas Maya Boukella, our pop culture journalist, explains in a video, she is a woman who wants to prove she isn’t.” like everyone else belittling them, and giving himself a personality that is not necessarily his own, to correspond to patriarchal clichés. The target? Let it be noticed and chosen by male society.

But can’t we extend this concept to those who have children, and who judges those who are in the same case?

Mothers are always judged, and it’s painful

The injunctions made to women are constant, we know that all too well. And the injunctions, when one becomes a mother, are enormous. Breastfeeding, bottle-feeding, buying all equipment and second-hand clothes or giving preference to new ones, using this or that object to take care of your baby, being pro-washable or disposable diapers, giving away homemade baby food or buy ready-made things, it doesn’t matter, we always take it in the faceand we are constantly judged.

Mothers are held responsible by patriarchal society for the education they give to their children, and are despised when their child does not correspond to what is expected of him. Not the fathers, huh! No no, mothers. Nothing new under the sun, sadly.

But what’s all the more embarrassing, aside from the fact that all these injunctions are extremely guilt-inducing, is when they come directly from those who should be on the same side, namely those who also have children, and who do what they can to keep their head out of the water.

Pick-me daronnes, they exist

You all know them, these mothers. They are the ones who say: me with my kids, i don’t do it like that ” OR ” it should come as no surprise that your child has this type of behavior as his mother didn’t breastfeed him / breastfed him too long, put him to sleep in his parents’ bed / put him in her room as soon as she gave birth, just fed him what he wants / don’t force him to taste everything ” and many others.

As soon as a mother experiences difficulties regarding her motherhood and parenting, her choices and ways of doing things are judged and reported by those.” who knows better “, those who seem to have science infused in terms of proximal motherhood and other more or less fashionable precepts of the moment.

But why do they do it? What’s their point? Prove that they have succeeded, that they are getting there, that they are better, that they have won the medal of the mother who succeeds?

No one can have this medal, it doesn’t exist. No mother doesn’t struggle with her children at one time or another. All of them go through difficult times, even frankly complicated ones, all fail, all try to do better, all experience the continuous questioning of their way of doing things. However, they judge those who go through the same turbulence, soon forgetting that they too sometimes pedal in the grits and are like a hen faced with a knife when they are confronted with their child who discovers a new technique for turning them into goats.

The pick me daronnes, this scourge of patriarchy

THE pick me up the daronnes are, unknowingly or not, a pure consequence of the patriarchy : the woman who must be a mother, the woman who must be a GOOD mother, the woman who knows how to take care of her children, who likes to do it and who does it well, because it is the reason for her existence. A bunch of moldy clichés.

A woman who is a mother and who struggles, who doesn’t get along on all fronts, who favors her career, who doesn’t have time to prepare home-cooked meals, who doesn’t know all the educational currents, who is not wait, it will then be judged, singled out and it will not be “chosen”.

These pick me up daronnes, appear everywhere, and you surely know a few: sometimes they are our own mothers, that say ” Thatbefore, we didn’t do much with the postpartum, we were satisfied “. I’m the retired neighbor who agrees to babysit your child for a few minutes while she goes shopping, specifying ” he doesn’t mind keeping it, at least so you have time to go buy something to make him a good dinner for tonight, to change from these filthy jars “.

They are the ones who squint because your child is watching a cartoon in the pediatrician’s waiting room wait, instead of ” read a small book in silence “. It could be you too.

They are also the ones, whom you meet at day care, scared because you dare say you don’t practice babywearing or co-sleeping with your child, or those who, coming out of school, explain that they love being part of the parents’ advice and that they don’t understand ” why some mothers are never available for school trips when it’s so important ».

What is fascinating is that they can be so radically opposed to the previous examples: pick me up daronnes may very well be those who have a motherhood that is the opposite of the clichés of the so-called “perfect” mother: it just adds to the fact that they are very different from the rest, that they are absolutely relaxed, totally relaxed about everything about their children, and so on “ waw, frankly, you have to let go of the ballast eh, it’s not that complicated to have satisfied children ». Yes.

By taking this opposite point of view, they simply try to break the supposed rigidity of those who want to master everything, by pretending to be the opposite of these patterns, establishing a new path forward for successful motherhood. A new injunction of guilt and against all those who do not follow the same pathjudiciously.

These mothers, who need to prove to others that they are doing their job well, are tough, and they contribute to putting an already high pressure on the shoulders of others. What’s the point of all this? Nobody.

So yes, we can think that no one can help but judge others, and this is part of human nature. Truly ? In the case of these pick me up daronnes, it is not yet another coup of patriarchy wanting to divide us even more because sisterhood pisses them off?

However, we would all benefit so much not to shoot each other in the paws, I swear. Again: in the end no one has a medal.