You must always check a silence, not because the baby might have choked, but because it is in the middle of destroying something, thoroughly and slowly, with great and secret pleasure. It is important to remember this — you run back to the room, not to see if the baby needs resuscitation, but to save your floppy disks. Once you realise where the balance actually lies you can free yourself from the prison of worry. I know this. I am an expert. Some people, as they mount the stairs, might listen for the sound of a toy still in use — to me, this was the sound of the baby randomly kicking buttons in a sudden choking or epileptic fit. I used to read the ‘Emergencies’ section in the How to Kill Your Baby books all the time. The How to Kill Your Baby books are so popular that I assume some part of us wants to do just that. If the unconscious works by opposites, then it is a murderous business too, giving birth.
How to Kill Your Baby: A List:
Too much salt, fungally infected honey, a slippy bath surface, suddenly jealous pets, permanently jealous siblings, a stupid or pathological babysitter, the stairs, a house that goes on fire while you are ‘outside moving the car’, a child-snatcher, a small plastic toy, a playful jiggle that is as bad as a shake, an open cutlery drawer, a necklace, a string, a plastic bag, a piece of burst balloon, an electric cord, a telephone cord, a lollipop, a curtain cord, an inhaled sweet, an accidentally suffocating pillow, a smoky room, the wrong kind of mattress, an open window, a milk allergy, a nut allergy, a bee sting, a virus, a bacterial infection, a badly balanced walker, a bottle of bleach, all kinds of weedkiller, both on the lawn or in the bottle, pesticides, miscellaneous fumes, all carcinogens including apples, a failure to apply sun cream, the lack of a hat, battery-produced eggs, inorganic meat, cars. You might also have Munchausen’s syndrome by proxy without knowing it, so it is a good idea to check yourself for this, from time to time.
As far as I can see from the news reports, one of the most dangerous creatures in a child’s life is a stepfather, but the books don’t seem to mention them. They warn against mothers’ endless sloppiness with dangerous domestic objects, but they never mention their taste in men.
When the baby is eight months old, she cries every time I move out of sight. This separation anxiety can get quite wearing — it is so large and so illogical. Besides, I don’t need to be reminded that I’m not going anywhere, I am with this baby all the time. But I wonder if part of the problem isn’t my own anxiety when I leave the room. Will she still be alive when I get back? I picture the court case.
‘And why, pray tell, did you leave the baby?’
‘I . . . A call of nature, your honour.’
He pauses. A ripple of sympathy runs through the courtroom.
‘Well, I suppose even the best mothers must er um,’ though you know he thinks we shouldn’t. ‘Case dismissed. I suppose.’
Mothers worry. Fathers worry too, of course. But mothers are supposed to worry, and fathers are supposed to reassure. Yes, she is all right on the swing, no, he will not fall into the stream, yes, I will park the buggy in the shade, oh, please get a grip.
Is it really a gender thing? Maybe the people who worry most are the ones who spend the most time with the baby, because babies train us into it — the desperation of holding, walking, singing, distracting. Babies demand your entire self, but it is a funny kind of self. It is a mixture of the ‘all’ a factory worker gives to the conveyor belt and the ‘all’ a lover offers to the one he adores. It involves, on both counts, a fair degree of self-abnegation.
This is why people who mind children suffer from despair; it happens all of a sudden — they realise, all of a sudden, that they still exist. It is to keep this crux at bay perhaps — that is why we worry. Because worry is a way of not thinking something through.
I think worry is a neglected emotion — it is something that small-minded people do — but it has its existential side too. Here is the fire that burns, the button that chokes, here is the kettle, the car, the bacterium, the man in a mac. On the other side is something so vulnerable and yet so huge — there is something unknowable about a baby. And between these two uncertainties is the parent; completely responsible, mostly helpless, caught in an ever-shrinking circle of guilt and protectiveness, until a kind of frozen passivity sets in. There is a kind of freedom to it too — the transference of dread from the self to the child is so total: it makes you disappear. Ping! Don’t mind me.
The martyred mother is someone uplifted, someone who has given everything. She is the reason we are all here. She is also, and even to herself, a pain in the neck.
I think mothers worry more than fathers because worry keeps them pregnant. To worry is to possess, contain, hold. It is the most tenacious of emotions. A worry — and a worrier — never lets go. ‘It never ends,’ says my mother, ‘it never ends,’ meaning the love, but also the fret.
Because worry has no narrative, it does not shift, or change. It has no resolution. That is what it is for — not ending, holding on. And sometimes it is terrible to be the one who is held, and mostly it is just irritating, because the object of anxiety is not, after all, you. We slip like phantoms from our parents’ heads, leaving them to clutch some Thing they call by our name, because a mother has no ability to let her child go. And then, much later, in need, or in tragedy, or in the wearing of age, we slip back into her possession, because sometimes you just want your mother to hold you, in her heart if not in her arms, as she is still held by her own mother, even now, from time to time.
Anne Enright, ‘Worry’ in Making Babies: Stumbling into Motherhood, London: Vintage, 2005, 177-79.
Ko zavlada tišina, je treba vedno preveriti, kaj se dogaja. Ne zato, ker bi se otrok morda dušil, ampak zato, ker ravno nekaj uničuje, temeljito in počasi, z velikim in skrivnim užitkom. To si moramo zapomniti – v sobo ne tečemo zato, da bi preverili, ali je treba otroka oživljati, ampak da bi rešili svoje diskete. Ko enkrat odkrijemo, katero je pravo ravnovesje, se lahko osvobodimo primeža skrbi. To vem. Prava strokovnjakinja sem. Nekateri ljudje med vzpenjanjem po stopnicah prisluškujejo zvoku igrače – jaz sem prisluškovala zvoku gumbov, ki jih otrok naključno brca v nenadnem napadu dušenja ali epilepsije. Včasih sem v knjigah Kako ubiti svojega otroka ves čas prebirala poglavje »Nujni primeri«. Ker so knjige Kako ubiti svojega otroka tako priljubljene, predvidevam, da si nekaj v nas želi storiti prav to. Če nezavedno deluje na podlagi nasprotij, potem je tudi rojevanje morilsko početje.
Kako ubiti svojega otroka: seznam:
Preveč soli, med, okužen z glivicami, spolzka površina v kopalnici, nenadoma ljubosumni hišni ljubljenčki, trajno ljubosumni sorojenci, neumna ali patološka varuška, stopnice, hiša, ki zagori, medtem ko »zunaj premikate avto,« ugrabitelji otrok, majhna plastična igrača, igrivo zibanje, ki je ravno tako slabo kot stresanje, odprt predal za jedilni pribor, ogrlica, vrvica, plastična vrečka, del počenega balona, električni kabel, telefonski kabel, lizika, vrvica za zavese, vdihnjen bombon, nenamerno dušeč vzglavnik, zadimljena soba, napačna vrsta vzmetnice, odprto okno, alergija na mleko, alergija na oreške, čebelji pik, virus, bakterijska okužba, slabo uravnotežena hojica, belilo, vse vrste sredstev za zatiranje plevela tako na trati kot v steklenici, pesticidi, različni hlapi, vsi kancerogeni vključno z jabolki, nenanašanje sončne kreme, pomanjkanje pokrivala, jajca iz baterijske reje, anorgansko meso, avtomobili. Morda imate tudi Munchausnov sindrom po namestniku, ne da bi vedeli, zato bi bilo dobro, da bi to občasno preverili.
Kolikor lahko razberem iz novic, je eno najnevarnejših bitij v otrokovem življenju očim, vendar se zdi, da jih knjige ne omenjajo. Opozarjajo na neskončno malomarnost mater pri ravnanju z nevarnimi domačimi predmeti, nikoli pa ne omenjajo njihovega okusa za moške.
Ko je dojenčica stara osem mesecev, joče vsakič, ko me ne vidi. Ta ločitvena tesnoba lahko postane precej utrujajoča – tako razsežna in tako nelogična je. Poleg tega me res ni treba opominjati, da ne bom šla nikamor, ves čas sem s tem otrokom. Vendar se sprašujem, ali je morda del težave tudi v moji lastni tesnobi, ko zapustim sobo. Ali bo še živa, ko se bom vrnila? Predstavljam si obravnavo.
»In zakaj ste torej zapustili otroka?«
»Jaz … klic narave, vaša milost.«
Ustavi se. Sodno dvorano preplavi val sočutja.
»No, predvidevam, da morajo tudi najboljše matere …,« čeprav vemo, da po njegovem mnenju ne bi smele. »Zadeva je zaključena. Predvidevam.«
Matere skrbi. Tudi očete skrbi, seveda. Ampak matere naj bi skrbelo, očetje pa naj bi pomirjali. Ja, na gugalnici ji je povsem v redu, ne, ne bo padla v potok, ja, voziček bom postavil v senco, daj, pomiri se.
Je to res odvisno od spola? Morda najbolj skrbi tiste, ki z otrokom preživijo največ časa, ker nas otroci tako naučijo – vse to obupano objemanje, nošenje, petje, odvračanje pozornosti. Dojenčki zahtevajo naš jaz v celoti, vendar je to nenavadna vrsta jaza. Je mešanica »predanosti«, ki jo delavec v tovarni posveča tekočemu traku, in »predanosti«, ki jo ljubimec posveča ljubljeni osebi. V obeh primerih gre za precejšnjo mero samoodrekanja.
Zato so ljudje, ki skrbijo za otroke, obupani; to se zgodi nenadoma – nenadoma se zavejo, da še vedno obstajajo. Morda nas skrbi zato, da bi se temu izognili. Skrb je način, da o nečem ne razmišljamo preveč.
Mislim, da je skrb zanemarjeno čustvo – je nekaj, kar počnejo ozkogledni ljudje –, vendar ima tudi svojo eksistencialno plat. Tu je ogenj, ki gori, gumb, ki duši, tu je čajnik, avto, bakterija, moški v plašču. Na drugi strani je nekaj tako ranljivega in hkrati tako velikega – v otroku je nekaj neznanskega. In med tema dvema negotovostma so starši; popolnoma odgovorni, večinoma nemočni, ujeti v vedno manjši krog krivde in zaščitništva, dokler ne nastopi nekakšna zamrznjena pasivnost. V tem je tudi nekakšna svoboda – prenos strahu iz sebe na otroka je tako popoln, da izginemo. Puf! Ne menite se zame.
Mučeniška mati je oseba, ki se je dvignila, oseba, ki je dala vse od sebe. Zaradi nje smo vsi tukaj. Je pa, celo sama sebi, nadležna.
Mislim, da matere skrbi bolj kot očete, ker zaradi skrbi ostajajo noseče. Skrbeti pomeni imeti v lasti, vsebovati, držati. To je najbolj vztrajno čustvo. Skrb – in tisti, ki skrbi – nikoli ne popusti. »Nikoli se ne konča,« pravi moja mati, »nikoli se ne konča,« in misli na ljubezen, ampak tudi na skrb.
Ker skrb nima zgodbe, se ne premakne ali spremeni. Nima razpleta. Njen namen je, da se ne konča, da vztrajamo. In včasih je grozno biti tisti, ki ga zadržujejo, večinoma pa je le nadležno, ker predmet skrbi navsezadnje nismo mi. Kot prividi se izmuznemo iz glav naših staršev in jih pustimo, da stiskajo neko stvar, ki jo kličejo z našim imenom, ker mati ne zna izpustiti svojega otroka. In potem, veliko pozneje, v stiski, tragediji ali v starosti spet zdrsnemo v njeno last, ker si včasih želimo samo, da bi nas mati objela, vsaj v srcu, če že ne v naročju, tako kot njo še zdaj občasno objema njena mati.
You must always check a silence, not because the baby might have choked, but because it is in the middle of destroying something, thoroughly and slowly, with great and secret pleasure. It is important to remember this — you run back to the room, not to see if the baby needs resuscitation, but to save your floppy disks. Once you realise where the balance actually lies you can free yourself from the prison of worry. I know this. I am an expert. Some people, as they mount the stairs, might listen for the sound of a toy still in use — to me, this was the sound of the baby randomly kicking buttons in a sudden choking or epileptic fit. I used to read the ‘Emergencies’ section in the How to Kill Your Baby books all the time. The How to Kill Your Baby books are so popular that I assume some part of us wants to do just that. If the unconscious works by opposites, then it is a murderous business too, giving birth.
How to Kill Your Baby: A List:
Too much salt, fungally infected honey, a slippy bath surface, suddenly jealous pets, permanently jealous siblings, a stupid or pathological babysitter, the stairs, a house that goes on fire while you are ‘outside moving the car’, a child-snatcher, a small plastic toy, a playful jiggle that is as bad as a shake, an open cutlery drawer, a necklace, a string, a plastic bag, a piece of burst balloon, an electric cord, a telephone cord, a lollipop, a curtain cord, an inhaled sweet, an accidentally suffocating pillow, a smoky room, the wrong kind of mattress, an open window, a milk allergy, a nut allergy, a bee sting, a virus, a bacterial infection, a badly balanced walker, a bottle of bleach, all kinds of weedkiller, both on the lawn or in the bottle, pesticides, miscellaneous fumes, all carcinogens including apples, a failure to apply sun cream, the lack of a hat, battery-produced eggs, inorganic meat, cars. You might also have Munchausen’s syndrome by proxy without knowing it, so it is a good idea to check yourself for this, from time to time.
As far as I can see from the news reports, one of the most dangerous creatures in a child’s life is a stepfather, but the books don’t seem to mention them. They warn against mothers’ endless sloppiness with dangerous domestic objects, but they never mention their taste in men.
When the baby is eight months old, she cries every time I move out of sight. This separation anxiety can get quite wearing — it is so large and so illogical. Besides, I don’t need to be reminded that I’m not going anywhere, I am with this baby all the time. But I wonder if part of the problem isn’t my own anxiety when I leave the room. Will she still be alive when I get back? I picture the court case.
‘And why, pray tell, did you leave the baby?’
‘I . . . A call of nature, your honour.’
He pauses. A ripple of sympathy runs through the courtroom.
‘Well, I suppose even the best mothers must er um,’ though you know he thinks we shouldn’t. ‘Case dismissed. I suppose.’
Mothers worry. Fathers worry too, of course. But mothers are supposed to worry, and fathers are supposed to reassure. Yes, she is all right on the swing, no, he will not fall into the stream, yes, I will park the buggy in the shade, oh, please get a grip.
Is it really a gender thing? Maybe the people who worry most are the ones who spend the most time with the baby, because babies train us into it — the desperation of holding, walking, singing, distracting. Babies demand your entire self, but it is a funny kind of self. It is a mixture of the ‘all’ a factory worker gives to the conveyor belt and the ‘all’ a lover offers to the one he adores. It involves, on both counts, a fair degree of self-abnegation.
This is why people who mind children suffer from despair; it happens all of a sudden — they realise, all of a sudden, that they still exist. It is to keep this crux at bay perhaps — that is why we worry. Because worry is a way of not thinking something through.
I think worry is a neglected emotion — it is something that small-minded people do — but it has its existential side too. Here is the fire that burns, the button that chokes, here is the kettle, the car, the bacterium, the man in a mac. On the other side is something so vulnerable and yet so huge — there is something unknowable about a baby. And between these two uncertainties is the parent; completely responsible, mostly helpless, caught in an ever-shrinking circle of guilt and protectiveness, until a kind of frozen passivity sets in. There is a kind of freedom to it too — the transference of dread from the self to the child is so total: it makes you disappear. Ping! Don’t mind me.
The martyred mother is someone uplifted, someone who has given everything. She is the reason we are all here. She is also, and even to herself, a pain in the neck.
I think mothers worry more than fathers because worry keeps them pregnant. To worry is to possess, contain, hold. It is the most tenacious of emotions. A worry — and a worrier — never lets go. ‘It never ends,’ says my mother, ‘it never ends,’ meaning the love, but also the fret.
Because worry has no narrative, it does not shift, or change. It has no resolution. That is what it is for — not ending, holding on. And sometimes it is terrible to be the one who is held, and mostly it is just irritating, because the object of anxiety is not, after all, you. We slip like phantoms from our parents’ heads, leaving them to clutch some Thing they call by our name, because a mother has no ability to let her child go. And then, much later, in need, or in tragedy, or in the wearing of age, we slip back into her possession, because sometimes you just want your mother to hold you, in her heart if not in her arms, as she is still held by her own mother, even now, from time to time.
Anne Enright, ‘Worry’ in Making Babies: Stumbling into Motherhood, London: Vintage, 2005, 177-79.
Ko zavlada tišina, je treba vedno preveriti, kaj se dogaja. Ne zato, ker bi se otrok morda dušil, ampak zato, ker ravno nekaj uničuje, temeljito in počasi, z velikim in skrivnim užitkom. To si moramo zapomniti – v sobo ne tečemo zato, da bi preverili, ali je treba otroka oživljati, ampak da bi rešili svoje diskete. Ko enkrat odkrijemo, katero je pravo ravnovesje, se lahko osvobodimo primeža skrbi. To vem. Prava strokovnjakinja sem. Nekateri ljudje med vzpenjanjem po stopnicah prisluškujejo zvoku igrače – jaz sem prisluškovala zvoku gumbov, ki jih otrok naključno brca v nenadnem napadu dušenja ali epilepsije. Včasih sem v knjigah Kako ubiti svojega otroka ves čas prebirala poglavje »Nujni primeri«. Ker so knjige Kako ubiti svojega otroka tako priljubljene, predvidevam, da si nekaj v nas želi storiti prav to. Če nezavedno deluje na podlagi nasprotij, potem je tudi rojevanje morilsko početje.
Kako ubiti svojega otroka: seznam:
Preveč soli, med, okužen z glivicami, spolzka površina v kopalnici, nenadoma ljubosumni hišni ljubljenčki, trajno ljubosumni sorojenci, neumna ali patološka varuška, stopnice, hiša, ki zagori, medtem ko »zunaj premikate avto,« ugrabitelji otrok, majhna plastična igrača, igrivo zibanje, ki je ravno tako slabo kot stresanje, odprt predal za jedilni pribor, ogrlica, vrvica, plastična vrečka, del počenega balona, električni kabel, telefonski kabel, lizika, vrvica za zavese, vdihnjen bombon, nenamerno dušeč vzglavnik, zadimljena soba, napačna vrsta vzmetnice, odprto okno, alergija na mleko, alergija na oreške, čebelji pik, virus, bakterijska okužba, slabo uravnotežena hojica, belilo, vse vrste sredstev za zatiranje plevela tako na trati kot v steklenici, pesticidi, različni hlapi, vsi kancerogeni vključno z jabolki, nenanašanje sončne kreme, pomanjkanje pokrivala, jajca iz baterijske reje, anorgansko meso, avtomobili. Morda imate tudi Munchausnov sindrom po namestniku, ne da bi vedeli, zato bi bilo dobro, da bi to občasno preverili.
Kolikor lahko razberem iz novic, je eno najnevarnejših bitij v otrokovem življenju očim, vendar se zdi, da jih knjige ne omenjajo. Opozarjajo na neskončno malomarnost mater pri ravnanju z nevarnimi domačimi predmeti, nikoli pa ne omenjajo njihovega okusa za moške.
Ko je dojenčica stara osem mesecev, joče vsakič, ko me ne vidi. Ta ločitvena tesnoba lahko postane precej utrujajoča – tako razsežna in tako nelogična je. Poleg tega me res ni treba opominjati, da ne bom šla nikamor, ves čas sem s tem otrokom. Vendar se sprašujem, ali je morda del težave tudi v moji lastni tesnobi, ko zapustim sobo. Ali bo še živa, ko se bom vrnila? Predstavljam si obravnavo.
»In zakaj ste torej zapustili otroka?«
»Jaz … klic narave, vaša milost.«
Ustavi se. Sodno dvorano preplavi val sočutja.
»No, predvidevam, da morajo tudi najboljše matere …,« čeprav vemo, da po njegovem mnenju ne bi smele. »Zadeva je zaključena. Predvidevam.«
Matere skrbi. Tudi očete skrbi, seveda. Ampak matere naj bi skrbelo, očetje pa naj bi pomirjali. Ja, na gugalnici ji je povsem v redu, ne, ne bo padla v potok, ja, voziček bom postavil v senco, daj, pomiri se.
Je to res odvisno od spola? Morda najbolj skrbi tiste, ki z otrokom preživijo največ časa, ker nas otroci tako naučijo – vse to obupano objemanje, nošenje, petje, odvračanje pozornosti. Dojenčki zahtevajo naš jaz v celoti, vendar je to nenavadna vrsta jaza. Je mešanica »predanosti«, ki jo delavec v tovarni posveča tekočemu traku, in »predanosti«, ki jo ljubimec posveča ljubljeni osebi. V obeh primerih gre za precejšnjo mero samoodrekanja.
Zato so ljudje, ki skrbijo za otroke, obupani; to se zgodi nenadoma – nenadoma se zavejo, da še vedno obstajajo. Morda nas skrbi zato, da bi se temu izognili. Skrb je način, da o nečem ne razmišljamo preveč.
Mislim, da je skrb zanemarjeno čustvo – je nekaj, kar počnejo ozkogledni ljudje –, vendar ima tudi svojo eksistencialno plat. Tu je ogenj, ki gori, gumb, ki duši, tu je čajnik, avto, bakterija, moški v plašču. Na drugi strani je nekaj tako ranljivega in hkrati tako velikega – v otroku je nekaj neznanskega. In med tema dvema negotovostma so starši; popolnoma odgovorni, večinoma nemočni, ujeti v vedno manjši krog krivde in zaščitništva, dokler ne nastopi nekakšna zamrznjena pasivnost. V tem je tudi nekakšna svoboda – prenos strahu iz sebe na otroka je tako popoln, da izginemo. Puf! Ne menite se zame.
Mučeniška mati je oseba, ki se je dvignila, oseba, ki je dala vse od sebe. Zaradi nje smo vsi tukaj. Je pa, celo sama sebi, nadležna.
Mislim, da matere skrbi bolj kot očete, ker zaradi skrbi ostajajo noseče. Skrbeti pomeni imeti v lasti, vsebovati, držati. To je najbolj vztrajno čustvo. Skrb – in tisti, ki skrbi – nikoli ne popusti. »Nikoli se ne konča,« pravi moja mati, »nikoli se ne konča,« in misli na ljubezen, ampak tudi na skrb.
Ker skrb nima zgodbe, se ne premakne ali spremeni. Nima razpleta. Njen namen je, da se ne konča, da vztrajamo. In včasih je grozno biti tisti, ki ga zadržujejo, večinoma pa je le nadležno, ker predmet skrbi navsezadnje nismo mi. Kot prividi se izmuznemo iz glav naših staršev in jih pustimo, da stiskajo neko stvar, ki jo kličejo z našim imenom, ker mati ne zna izpustiti svojega otroka. In potem, veliko pozneje, v stiski, tragediji ali v starosti spet zdrsnemo v njeno last, ker si včasih želimo samo, da bi nas mati objela, vsaj v srcu, če že ne v naročju, tako kot njo še zdaj občasno objema njena mati.
Translation commentary
Klara Ivačič
Anne Enright's essay Worry was published in Making Babies: Stumbling into Motherhood in 2005. In her stories, she touches on themes of motherhood and all that comes with childbirth. In this essay, she reflects on the worries that mothers feel, based on her own experience of the birth of her daughter. In a satirical tone, she describes various aspects of worrying, including how books on “proper” child-rearing describe how virtually everything a child encounters can be harmful to them. This is why establishing the right tone, as used in the author's work, was itself already a challenge.
The translation of the text into Slovene presented several challenges, both purely linguistic and more culturally-specific. Generally speaking, English is much more favourable to nominal phrases, whereas in Slovene we use verbal structures much more often. In translation, many English nominal phrases, therefore, needed to be broken down into sentence structures.
Some reflection was required already in the title of the essay, which could have been translated into Slovene as “skrb” or “zaskrbljenost”, but I chose “skrb” because it implies actively taking care of someone else, not just worrying for them.
Throughout the story, the pronoun “you” appears in English, which can be translated as “ti” (singular) or “vi” (plural). However, when “you” does not refer to a specific person but is a general description, it can be used in Slovene as either the 1st person plural “mi” or the 2nd person plural “vi”. While there is no significant difference in meaning, the most appropriate solution should be chosen according to the context and, above all, should be consistent throughout the text. Since the author is equally describing her own experiences, I have therefore used 1st person plural “mi” in the translation.
The term “baby” presented a similar challenge. In English, linguistically speaking, babies are perceived as objects and therefore the pronoun “it” is used for them. In Slovenian, the word “otrok” is a broader term but is only a masculine noun and there is no feminine equivalent. However, we do have the term “dojenček”, but it only refers to children up to 12 months old and has a feminine equivalent “dojenčica”. Since the author mentions her 8-month-old daughter, I used the term “dojenčica”.
One of the unusual challenges was also the list How to Kill Your Baby because there are a lot of adjectives and noun structures that appear in this section, but these structures cannot always be transferred when translated into Slovenian. In most cases, I followed the original structure, but in some cases, I had to introduce verbal structures, otherwise, the translation would have sounded unnatural.
In conclusion, the essay seems easy to translate at first glance, but some problems arise when you get deeper into the work. The author uses popular English expressions that need to be researched in order to capture the precise meaning when translating. In addition, she skilfully combines a satirical and a serious tone to provide an insight into motherhood and the difficulties it brings, which proves to present quite a challenge to translate.