Saturday was my Sammy baby's first birthday. Before having Sammy come into our lives, Pork Chop and I used to laugh at obsessed dog owners. That all changed one Sunday in early August 2008. I was at work when Pork Chop called me to tell me he found the perfect puppy for us. I was skeptical because I'm terrified of dogs and because I didn't think Pork Chop was up to the responsibility of caring for a little beings. A few hours later, I was sitting on the floor and going through the paperwork required to buy a dog when Pork Chop brought Samson over to me. Poor little guy was suffering from kennel cough and was really exhausted from all the manhandling he'd gone through that day. At 11 weeks old, he still needed a lot of rest. Pork Chop put him on the floor and Sammy came over to me, looked up at me and (I swear), sighed and put his head on my thigh where he proceeded to fall asleep promptly. I took one look at that adorable face, felt his tiny little body quiver in his sleep and fell in love. In that instant, I felt like the Grinch when his heart grows too big. I knew I'd be taking Samson (soon to be known as Sammy baby to me) home and that I'd be wrapped around his little finger.
I run home everyday with excitement to spend time with Sammy. I can't go to the store without thinking about what toys or treats to buy him. He's my favorite companion on a Friday night when Pork Chop is out with friends. I'll stop at McDonald's for chicken nuggets and French fries for Sammy to eat contentedly while we lay in bed together. He'll gnaw on a treat while I read. We're perfect buddies together and during moments like that, I can't imagine a better way to spend my alone time.
My parents took to Sammy immediately. He's adorable and he's got a lot of admirers, but my mom loves him almost as much as I do. When we visit my parents, I leave him with my parents to babysit (not dog sit, because they really do baby him) while I hang out with friends or run errands in NJ. My dad takes him for walks while my mom prepares Sammy's favorite meals and scrounges around for new toys for Sammy. My mom's doting on Sammy makes me love her more. Not only because she accepts him and treats him how I want him to be treated (ok, fine, spoiled), but because she loves him on her own too.
However, my mom totally caught me off guard on Saturday with the absolutely cutest thing. I told her that it was Sammy's birthday. She then immediately scolded me for not telling her earlier so she could buy him a birthday present...and then she asked me to put her on speaker phone so she wish him a happy birthday. I put her on speaker and watched Sammy's ears perk as my mom cooed, "happy birthday Sammy! You're a big boy today!".
There are no words for how much I loved my mom at that moment.
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
Reason 8,384,691 I love my mother
This isn't a Mother's day post (which is good because it would be way late). This is more of an acknowledgment of the little things my mom does and says that surprise me because I don't expect her to understand me so well...nor do I think I understand her either.
A few weeks ago, my family had a huge argument. Many hurtful things were said to each other, while I mainly stood apart and tried to mediate. I've always somewhat felt like an outsider in the exclusive club that is my family. That day was no different. Although I had no part in the fighting, I was blamed by all the participants for simultaneously not taking sides, taking the wrong side, not understanding, trying to understand things that were beyond my comprehension, etc.
Anyway, my mom indulged in the usual dramatics wherein she moaned about all the sacrifices she made as a mother, related the horrors of her c-sections to bring my brother and I to the world, etc. Basically, she just read from the universal mothers' handbook that every mother seems to have memorized. Anyway, I've heard the guilt trip before and tuned it out. However, then my mom veered from the script. She cried about how she still remembers being pregnant with Brown Clown. She told me about her fear and excitement as her belly grew, her sleepless nights when she would stand over his crib and marvel at his tiny appendages and worry about how such a vulnerable body would make it in this cruel world.
Maybe you've heard such reminiscing from your parents; maybe I have too and I just never listened. This time those words pierced my veneer though. She explained that the love and worry I feel for my Sammy baby is just an inkling of the terrifying, all-encompassing love that only a mother can feel for her child. I already know this, but now that I'm at the age when having a child is commonplace, that sentiment seems more real.
My love for my dog is so huge that I feel like my heart breaks on a daily basis just to accomodate the new love that develops daily. One of my fears about starting a family is that I don't think my heart can handle it. Love is heartache; for the first time, I truly understand that. I already imagine the physical, professional, academic, and social sacrifices a woman makes when she becomes a mother. I just never appreciated the emotional sacrifice. As a mother, your feelings and thoughts are never your own again. You are held hostage from day one of realizing that you're carrying a baby (or that your adoption is going through). You spend your life worrying, hoping, loving...all for a child who will never appreciate a tenth of your dedication and commitment. You trust that God will protect your baby and guide him when you cannot. You place your faith in the idea that your love will compensate for your parenting mistakes.
I don't know if I can do any of that. I'm sure no mother feels ready to do that, but I'm paralyzed by the mere suggestion of motherhood. I've been grappling with this fear constantly lately because, again, I'm at that age when everyone seems to be starting families. I can't imagine "my turn" anymore than I can imagine having a sex change operation and becoming a man.
I haven't told my mom about these fears because I didn't think she'd understand. It's expected in my culture that when you're "of age," you get married and start expelling babies from your body. As a result, I just assumed that my mother didn't understand the uncertainty and overwhelming fear I have regarding parenthood. However, when she started talking about watching Brown Clown grow everyday and being astonished at the way his perfect little body grew bigger and stronger to the point that he was crawling, walking and then running to my mother...and then away from my mother...I finally realized what I hadn't understood before. Motherhood isn't an obligation. It's a lifelong duty, but it's also a privilege. It's heartbreak, but it's also heart-filling.
I don't know how my mother knew to put her unhappiness with her child's actions into terms I'd understand, but she did. She targeted my fears but also put them in context of the great rewards of motherhood.
A few weeks ago, my family had a huge argument. Many hurtful things were said to each other, while I mainly stood apart and tried to mediate. I've always somewhat felt like an outsider in the exclusive club that is my family. That day was no different. Although I had no part in the fighting, I was blamed by all the participants for simultaneously not taking sides, taking the wrong side, not understanding, trying to understand things that were beyond my comprehension, etc.
Anyway, my mom indulged in the usual dramatics wherein she moaned about all the sacrifices she made as a mother, related the horrors of her c-sections to bring my brother and I to the world, etc. Basically, she just read from the universal mothers' handbook that every mother seems to have memorized. Anyway, I've heard the guilt trip before and tuned it out. However, then my mom veered from the script. She cried about how she still remembers being pregnant with Brown Clown. She told me about her fear and excitement as her belly grew, her sleepless nights when she would stand over his crib and marvel at his tiny appendages and worry about how such a vulnerable body would make it in this cruel world.
Maybe you've heard such reminiscing from your parents; maybe I have too and I just never listened. This time those words pierced my veneer though. She explained that the love and worry I feel for my Sammy baby is just an inkling of the terrifying, all-encompassing love that only a mother can feel for her child. I already know this, but now that I'm at the age when having a child is commonplace, that sentiment seems more real.
My love for my dog is so huge that I feel like my heart breaks on a daily basis just to accomodate the new love that develops daily. One of my fears about starting a family is that I don't think my heart can handle it. Love is heartache; for the first time, I truly understand that. I already imagine the physical, professional, academic, and social sacrifices a woman makes when she becomes a mother. I just never appreciated the emotional sacrifice. As a mother, your feelings and thoughts are never your own again. You are held hostage from day one of realizing that you're carrying a baby (or that your adoption is going through). You spend your life worrying, hoping, loving...all for a child who will never appreciate a tenth of your dedication and commitment. You trust that God will protect your baby and guide him when you cannot. You place your faith in the idea that your love will compensate for your parenting mistakes.
I don't know if I can do any of that. I'm sure no mother feels ready to do that, but I'm paralyzed by the mere suggestion of motherhood. I've been grappling with this fear constantly lately because, again, I'm at that age when everyone seems to be starting families. I can't imagine "my turn" anymore than I can imagine having a sex change operation and becoming a man.
I haven't told my mom about these fears because I didn't think she'd understand. It's expected in my culture that when you're "of age," you get married and start expelling babies from your body. As a result, I just assumed that my mother didn't understand the uncertainty and overwhelming fear I have regarding parenthood. However, when she started talking about watching Brown Clown grow everyday and being astonished at the way his perfect little body grew bigger and stronger to the point that he was crawling, walking and then running to my mother...and then away from my mother...I finally realized what I hadn't understood before. Motherhood isn't an obligation. It's a lifelong duty, but it's also a privilege. It's heartbreak, but it's also heart-filling.
I don't know how my mother knew to put her unhappiness with her child's actions into terms I'd understand, but she did. She targeted my fears but also put them in context of the great rewards of motherhood.
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