On Motherhood

                                                 Mother and Child, Klimt
                                                   
I am not cavalier about motherhood. It has not always been easy for me. As my daughter reaches the twilight of her early childhood, and comes closer to adolescence, I am both amazed at how much she has learned, and frightened by how quickly the years have flown.  She'll be eight in just a few weeks.  It seems like just a few months ago that I could hold her small, infant head in the palm of my hand.

With Mother's Day approaching, I was inspired to write a blog about what being a mother means to me, as well as what it has taught me about life. I know that I have touched on this subject in other blogs, but this is the tug that pulls me out of my bed as the early morning hours tick by.  I should be sleeping, but my muse is a tireless wench who seems to subsist on caffeine and gin. So, here we go.

Photo courtesy of Wikimedia Commons

Any mother will tell you how fragile her life, and the life of her child seems at any given moment.  Fevers and bee-stings are compounded to epic proportions, and I still go into my daughter's room at night to check  to see if she is breathing. I have heard mothers of teenagers say they do the same. Just read the book, "I'll Love You Forever" if you doubt the bedroom creeper phenomenon. I HOPE I won't ever resort to dragging a ladder to my grown kid's window, but hey, you never know. People without children think this is insane. Mothers, on the other hand, will have a handy jar of Vick's Vap-o-Rub and a thermometer in their pocket, and nod in complete agreement. I guarantee if I called my mom right now, at 2:18 AM, and told her I was sick and needed her, she would pull her braless self out of her comfy bed, and drive to my house to take care of my 37-year old ass.  That's the power of procreation, people. Shudder in horror if you must.

That leads me to skydiving. I have always wanted to jump out of an airplane. My husband has done it, several friends have done it. I will, too. But not until after my child is grown, with a job, and not without double-checking the status of my life insurance policies. (That's right, it's plural. I have three). Because, it is my duty to live long enough to see this child up. Nothing is allowed to happen to me. I had the cancer scare a few years ago. I was a single mom, and it was terrifying. Even though it wasn't nearly as bad as it could have been, I felt the weight of my own mortality. I came through it, just fine.  I guarantee it was mostly because I refused to let something like a disease take me away from my spawn.  I was all she had, you see.  Your love for your child is an insanely humbling experience. It will make you feel vulnerable, and complete. It will bring you to your knees.  It should.

And about my own mother - I saw her through new eyes the moment Avery was born. Wow. She really loves me.  Like, she would claw through a jungle for me, with mosquitoes the size of elephants for me. She's made some grand mistakes - we all do.  But when I felt my heart open like a lotus the moment they laid my bloody, screaming baby on my abdomen, I knew that I hadn't loved. Not like this. There are no words. That's not to say that some days, I dislike the way she behaves. I  wonder who replaced my sweet, innocent baby with this mouthy little girl with cornflower blue eyes that mock me. I have my Betty Draper moments when I want to render my liquor-cabinet barren. But, just like my mom, I endure it; because of that love.

Avery and I on my wedding day

Life opens up in other ways when you become a parent. Birthday parties, trips to Disneyworld, Christmas morning - you get to be a kid again. Sure, it's kind of vicarious, but there is nothing much better than seeing your kid dig a chocolate orange out of her stocking, and break off a piece of it to share with you.  Or seeing her dress up in some horrible excuse for a costume, and perform the most adorable, off-key singing routine ever in her school assembly.  It's the little things that make each day special. It's the way she snuggles next to me on the sofa, her legs getting longer each year. Soon, there won't be room for that. And I have to take a sip of  my gin and tonic to quell this sudden lump in my throat.
                                                     
 One of the best things about my daughter growing up is the increasing depth and maturity of our conversations. An only child becomes an old soul at a young age. The company of adults leads to amazing philosophies and sophisticated logic at a young age. I need to hear her voice; I always will. Listen to your kids. Listen to them talk about frogs, and bugs, and that boy who takes their seat on the bus. There will be time to vacuum and keep house when they are older. Make a mess, together. I forget this sometimes. Especially, as a working mom who also loves her career, it can be a juggling act.  Sundays are sacred at our house. We unplug, we stop, we breathe and we reconnect.  Avery and I recently had the deepest conversation about the work week and the weekend. She told me that she loves Sundays, because we can be lazy, and there isn't an agenda. Do this for your family. It means the world to them.

 See the world through your child's eyes. Remember what it feels like to be bored, now and again. Blow the spores from a dandelion. Make a mud-pie.  Chase your kids through the house and let them jump on the furniture, for God's sake - well some of it.  You'll have your House Beautiful centerfold someday. Now is not the time - you won't get this time back. You can't inventory these moments, but you can make some great memories that your child will cherish.  They'll probably forget the expensive gadgets you bought them for their birthday, but they will not forget the times you kissed their battle wounds and made them a milkshake to take the tears away. What do you remember?

Call your mom. If you haven't seen her for months, drop by with some flowers, or better yet, a drawing you did of her in kindergarten. Let her do nice things for you - she still needs to feel needed. It breaks my heart when I hear stories of estranged children and mothers.  I realize that not all children are lucky enough to have good mothers, or their mothers have already passed on. It's not always easy, being a son or daughter.   I know she can annoy the hell out of you, and she may go through your mail when she house-sits for you while you are in Cozumel. But whether that woman gave birth to you, or signed some papers that made you hers for all eternity, she loves you.