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.
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