Thursday
Apr092009
On Motherhood
Thursday, April 9, 2009 at 2:17AM | Mr Lady
Last week, a bleary eyed, exhausted me pulled my miserably sick daughter into my room after hours of tossing and turning, after sitting up worrying about why she was crying and if her pain would subside enough to find sleep. I gave up; I gave up and I pulled her into my bed around 2:30 in the morning. Both of us were deliriously tired; she wrapped her arms around me and asked me to hold her tighter. We laid together until I felt her breathing ease and I thought she'd finally drifted off. Once I knew her Motrin had kicked in, once I knew she was comfortable and sound, then I could find sleep myself.
Because that, the sleepless nights, the worry, the never ending cycle children in my bed...that is motherhood.
As I drifted off, I felt her little hand on my tummy. She rubbed my stomach, much like I rub hers when she's tired or sad to calm her, and I smiled with the realization that she'd been waiting for me to sleep, too. Her fingers fell into the deep grooves of the stretch marks 27 months of pregnancy have left on me and she paused. She backtracked slightly. She took the tip of her finger and began tracing the marks, the lines marking the roads on the map of our lives together. At that moment I realized something I'd not honestly grasped in 11 years of parenting; that I am hers. I am this thing, this pile of bones and skin that belongs to her. To them. That I am not just a 30 something girl with big hips covered in silvering tracks; I am an extension of three people, and I belong to them completely.
And that, the giving over of myself to someone else, well...that is motherhood.
If you asked me what motherhood was, I could give you the obvious answer. I could tell you it's 9 months of puking and 18 years of mumbling to yourself. It's hardly having enough time and never having enough for yourself. It's diapers and bottles and boo boos. It's dishes and laundry and grocery bills and college tuition. And I'd be lying to you with every word.
Motherhood is none of those things. Those are merely the minute details of life. If I didn't have these children I'd still have grocery bills and bank accounts and I'd probably have some career that required much of my time. I'd have work to bring home and deadlines to meet and maybe a dog to feed and walk. I'd be busy, I'd be frazzled and I'd be distracted. None of that changes with or without having my children, just how it plays out does.
So I take all of that out of the equation and what I'm left is what happens on the sidelines. I'm left with falling into bed and knowing that my daughter is so intertwined in my soul that she could dare trace the lines of my body while she thought I slept simply because she wanted to, which is something I'd never had dared do with my own mother. That is motherhood.
I brought a basket of clothes to my boys' room the other day and when I opened my oldest son's top drawer to put his socks and boxers away, I realized that he'd unfolded all of his boxers and re-folded them differently. He'd moved his socks from the right to the left, the t-shirts to the back and laid his boxers out like I'd never think to. I stood for a little too long staring at that drawer, smiling, realizing that my son had taken an idea I'd given him and made it into something uniquely his own. That he was moving away from me and he knew which direction he was heading and he didn't need to ask for my permission or my seek my validation anymore.. That is motherhood.
I cook dinner at night and my middle son helps, no matter what we're making. He does a really crappy job of chopping the parsley and he over-salts the sauce and he sets the table all wrong and we laugh our asses off the whole time we're getting ready to eat. We talk about Pokemon or skateboarding or the new video game and I listen to his stories, his tales, his experiences that have nothing to do with me and I learn something about that little boy who does still need me to validate him, who wants to be in the kitchen with me because I love to cook and he wants to be a part of what I love. I listen to his silly stories, I nod at the things I honestly don't understand, because he loves those things and I want to know about the thing he loves. That is motherhood.
My daughter climbs into the pile of dirty laundry that is now taller than she is. She burrows into it until she finds the buried basket and she makes us all find her. Sometimes she lunges out at us, sometimes she just peeks an eye out and whispers, "boo." Then she leaps out and we run around the living room, tripping over piles of clothes, through the kitchen, jumping over bags of groceries still not put away, playing tag and laughing until it hurts. That is motherhood.
Motherhood is a tide, ebbing and flowing in my life. It is a push and a pull, a give and a take. It's me giving all I have to these people and me taking everything I can from them while I have them. It's them holding on to me while they push me away. It's watching them learn and grow, it's mourning the loss of their dependence and celebrating the independent people they are becoming. It's getting flustered because the dust is piling up and the floors are a mess but me not being able to bring myself to windex the little handprints off the windows because I want to savour them for as long as I can. It's that it's been so long since I've had a minute, a day, a week to myself that I can hardly remember what that's like and it's the way 11 years just blew past me right then when I blinked and the next 15 are going to be over before I can blink again. It's running on three hours of sleep, grieving for the loss of a child not my own and at the exact same moment finding a fleeting moment of pure peace in the eyes of another child.
It's who I have become to my core. It's the space in between the mistakes I make, between what isn't getting done in my day or my life, it's the touch and the sight and the sound of something bigger than me and better than me unfolding before my eyes. It is a gift, being able to look at a child and see more than a short human; being able to see the roads that connect you to her to me to them. It's living less in fear and more in the moment. It's how I realize slightly more with every day that passes exactly how wrong, how tragically horrifying my own childhood was and realizing more with every day that passes that it doesn't matter anymore, that I am not that child, and neither are my children, and neither are anyone else's. That I can learn from it and let it go. That I don't have to forgive or forget or understand, but I am ready to accept it and leave it behind. That I have the power to give it meaning, to make it right, to cancel the whole thing out.
It has nothing to do with what I'm doing, and everything to do with what I'm becoming.
David and Catharine are hosting Around the World in 80 Clicks: 80 stories of motherhood from around the globe. Ree asked me, Kelley asked Ree, Tanis asked Kelley, Catharine asked Tanis and I'd like to ask X Box. Who isn't a mother, but who's quest to become a parent is as inspirational as it is heartbreaking. If you'd like to contribute, please let Catharine know about your post so she and David can add it to the "itinerary."
Because that, the sleepless nights, the worry, the never ending cycle children in my bed...that is motherhood.
As I drifted off, I felt her little hand on my tummy. She rubbed my stomach, much like I rub hers when she's tired or sad to calm her, and I smiled with the realization that she'd been waiting for me to sleep, too. Her fingers fell into the deep grooves of the stretch marks 27 months of pregnancy have left on me and she paused. She backtracked slightly. She took the tip of her finger and began tracing the marks, the lines marking the roads on the map of our lives together. At that moment I realized something I'd not honestly grasped in 11 years of parenting; that I am hers. I am this thing, this pile of bones and skin that belongs to her. To them. That I am not just a 30 something girl with big hips covered in silvering tracks; I am an extension of three people, and I belong to them completely.
And that, the giving over of myself to someone else, well...that is motherhood.
If you asked me what motherhood was, I could give you the obvious answer. I could tell you it's 9 months of puking and 18 years of mumbling to yourself. It's hardly having enough time and never having enough for yourself. It's diapers and bottles and boo boos. It's dishes and laundry and grocery bills and college tuition. And I'd be lying to you with every word.
Motherhood is none of those things. Those are merely the minute details of life. If I didn't have these children I'd still have grocery bills and bank accounts and I'd probably have some career that required much of my time. I'd have work to bring home and deadlines to meet and maybe a dog to feed and walk. I'd be busy, I'd be frazzled and I'd be distracted. None of that changes with or without having my children, just how it plays out does.
So I take all of that out of the equation and what I'm left is what happens on the sidelines. I'm left with falling into bed and knowing that my daughter is so intertwined in my soul that she could dare trace the lines of my body while she thought I slept simply because she wanted to, which is something I'd never had dared do with my own mother. That is motherhood.
I brought a basket of clothes to my boys' room the other day and when I opened my oldest son's top drawer to put his socks and boxers away, I realized that he'd unfolded all of his boxers and re-folded them differently. He'd moved his socks from the right to the left, the t-shirts to the back and laid his boxers out like I'd never think to. I stood for a little too long staring at that drawer, smiling, realizing that my son had taken an idea I'd given him and made it into something uniquely his own. That he was moving away from me and he knew which direction he was heading and he didn't need to ask for my permission or my seek my validation anymore.. That is motherhood.
I cook dinner at night and my middle son helps, no matter what we're making. He does a really crappy job of chopping the parsley and he over-salts the sauce and he sets the table all wrong and we laugh our asses off the whole time we're getting ready to eat. We talk about Pokemon or skateboarding or the new video game and I listen to his stories, his tales, his experiences that have nothing to do with me and I learn something about that little boy who does still need me to validate him, who wants to be in the kitchen with me because I love to cook and he wants to be a part of what I love. I listen to his silly stories, I nod at the things I honestly don't understand, because he loves those things and I want to know about the thing he loves. That is motherhood.
My daughter climbs into the pile of dirty laundry that is now taller than she is. She burrows into it until she finds the buried basket and she makes us all find her. Sometimes she lunges out at us, sometimes she just peeks an eye out and whispers, "boo." Then she leaps out and we run around the living room, tripping over piles of clothes, through the kitchen, jumping over bags of groceries still not put away, playing tag and laughing until it hurts. That is motherhood.
Motherhood is a tide, ebbing and flowing in my life. It is a push and a pull, a give and a take. It's me giving all I have to these people and me taking everything I can from them while I have them. It's them holding on to me while they push me away. It's watching them learn and grow, it's mourning the loss of their dependence and celebrating the independent people they are becoming. It's getting flustered because the dust is piling up and the floors are a mess but me not being able to bring myself to windex the little handprints off the windows because I want to savour them for as long as I can. It's that it's been so long since I've had a minute, a day, a week to myself that I can hardly remember what that's like and it's the way 11 years just blew past me right then when I blinked and the next 15 are going to be over before I can blink again. It's running on three hours of sleep, grieving for the loss of a child not my own and at the exact same moment finding a fleeting moment of pure peace in the eyes of another child.
It's who I have become to my core. It's the space in between the mistakes I make, between what isn't getting done in my day or my life, it's the touch and the sight and the sound of something bigger than me and better than me unfolding before my eyes. It is a gift, being able to look at a child and see more than a short human; being able to see the roads that connect you to her to me to them. It's living less in fear and more in the moment. It's how I realize slightly more with every day that passes exactly how wrong, how tragically horrifying my own childhood was and realizing more with every day that passes that it doesn't matter anymore, that I am not that child, and neither are my children, and neither are anyone else's. That I can learn from it and let it go. That I don't have to forgive or forget or understand, but I am ready to accept it and leave it behind. That I have the power to give it meaning, to make it right, to cancel the whole thing out.
It has nothing to do with what I'm doing, and everything to do with what I'm becoming.
David and Catharine are hosting Around the World in 80 Clicks: 80 stories of motherhood from around the globe. Ree asked me, Kelley asked Ree, Tanis asked Kelley, Catharine asked Tanis and I'd like to ask X Box. Who isn't a mother, but who's quest to become a parent is as inspirational as it is heartbreaking. If you'd like to contribute, please let Catharine know about your post so she and David can add it to the "itinerary."
Reader Comments (105)
That brought a tear to my eye...
Its so true, and so easy to forget.
Hi de-lurking to tell you how moving your post is. You made me cry. Absoloutely beautiful. Now I'm off to hug my 'Master 3'
Are you sure she wasn't just tickling you?
Ya gotta stop doing this to me, girl. I'm on the verge of sending 1 of 4 away to college.
Seriously, though...SO beautiful.
Damn you. I gotz something in my eye.
Beautiful. As always.
Huh. I thought Motherhood was a place to buy maternity clothes.
(Seriously though, great post.)
Thank you so much for this post. Made me cry and realize how lucky I am not be a mom.
this is beautiful. very nicely written lady. peace
Great post!
It makes us all appreciate how good we have it, even when it seems like it's bad....it's still good.
Beautiful.
This is just wonderful, and I'm going right over to nominate it for 5 Star Friday. This is why I keep reading blogs: so you can all remind me, daily, weekly, that motherhood is about being theirs.
That is an absolutely beautiful post. And it makes me realize how great of a mom I am, too. Thank you for that.
That was an awesome post. Brought a tear to my eye...
...then I read SciFi Dad's comment.
Wonderfully written.
this was beautiful. well done.
Beautiful!
Beautiful, profound in its simplicity, real. Been lurking here for months, laughing and nodding my head at all you have to say. Keep up the great writing -- you're terrific.
Thank you for sharing your gift.
you have an incredible gift for words. thanks for this...touched my soul.
Thank you...for reminding me what I am, and what it's all about...
So beautifully put. And timely for me. I've spent many years railing against my horror of a childhood too, and I've recently decided to accept and put it behind me for the same reasons as you. Quite liberating.
It really is all about *these* little ones to whom we belong. And I try to be the kind of mom to them that I wish I'd always had for myself.
Awesome post! xo
I'm crying.
(And trying to figure out from that picture if you had another baby - I would have heard, right?)
You are such a rad, rad lady.
Love the post.
Man, this is about as perfect a post as I've ever read. Thanks for that.
It’s the space in between the mistakes I make, between what isn’t getting done in my day or my life, it’s the touch and the sight and the sound of something bigger than me and better than me unfolding before my eyes.
Damn, girlfriend, when you decide to get serious and introspective, you really do it right. This whole thing is smart and gorgeous, and this line particularly so. You make my recent lack-of-writing streak even more embarrassing.
This is beautiful. Thank you!
So I guess turnabout is fair play. Because now you are making me cry. Well done.
Wait a minute. Your son rearranged his underwear and socks? He REFOLDED His underwear? Seriously, what are you feeding him, and can you send me some?
:)
I understand. This was beautiful. It truly was a defining moment when I realized that they look upon me the same way that I look upon my own mother. She is constant, necessary, imperfect but beautiful.
And I think I owe her a phone call to remind her of that...
Love it, love it, love it. Gives me great hope, knowing it's really possible to move past the mistakes of one's own childhood. It's something that's terrified me for a long time - visiting those same mistakes on my own children whether I mean to or not. So ten thousand points to you!
that was beautiful.
Makin' me cry all over again, Girl!
Oh, this was beautiful.
You make me proud to be part of this sisterhood, proud to be a mother too.
That was absolutely beautiful.
Am linking to you today, by the way.
Brilliant.
They are the best things we will ever be a part of.
xoxox Jess
I too have been reading just for a while. Your writing moves me - usually to tears and/or rofling. I'm a newish mom, and am completely with you about the challenges of raising my daughter in a happier home than my mum was able to provide me.
As an aside, I have also been reading some of your funny stories aloud to my husband. Unfortunately, the other night he told me "YOU WALK DOG OR I FIND NEW HOME". Thanks, Mr. Lady.
Beautiful. I love "belonging" to my little boy (and currently miss him dreadfully). Let me tell you, that week to yourself? Highly overrated. I have never felt so empty and alone without him here, and I know he'll be back in about a month. Everyday I have to fight with myself not to skip work and drive the 10 hours to the in-laws and bring him home. My arms ache for him.
Sigh, I had thought briefly about trying to get on the list, but-you have said it all, and a billion times better than I ever could. There is a reason I adore you so much, and this is a perfect example of why.
Oh girl - I am crying. This is exactly what I needed this morning as I swirl around packing tiny suitcases for a trip to Grandma and Grandpa's and paying bills and folding laundry and wondering if I have it all together. I so do NOT have it all together but I really DO have it all together 'cause I belong to three precious souls too and they belong to me.
I love your line "It's the space in between the mistakes I make...." Oh Lord....yes.
And I hope it's the mistakes too. Cause I make them every damn day.
You know that I love when you write like this....right on.
Ironically, I just came to terms with the same realization yesterday...but only after I spent hours agonizing over what to put on my mom's tombstone.
Thank you for helping remind all of us that our past is just that.
Oh this is just incredibly well written!
love the tummy rub thing, my kids do it too, and you're right... it's all about possession.
I can't even take the piss out of that. Bloody perfect.
(About the other, I really can't, there's no brain remaining to get my head around that right now. I'm sorry, but I appreciate the nod, thank you)
Jesus Christ, dude. I was already weepy today. Now, I'm just a blubbering ball of goo making attempts at editing papers and failing miserably.
That was really beautiful.
You are awesome.
Thank you for your post. I thoroughly enjoy your blog - the wit, the insight, the perspective - all wonderful. This post is wonderful - thank you for articulating something I could not.
loved this.
As a man, I hope I will be able to experience that same intense connection with my children, even though as a father I will never have carried or bore them.
*URK* Now I'm just a big blubbering ball of messy emotions...
beautiful. wonderful. this really hit me. thank you.