A few thoughts on being a mom

I’ve been thinking lately about the things that I’ve come to understand in my short time as a mom.

It’s strange because I’ve been a woman my whole life, but I never really thought about it all that much. Being pregnant and giving birth made me realize just how crazy strong and important women really are. We’re the moms. And yes, it takes dads to make new people too, but really it’s all about the mom. I have this huge new respect for all the other moms out there.  I never used to understand when people said things like that before.

Now, I appreciate how amazing and wondrous it is that I’ve created this new little being. Of course, it’s strange because in so many ways it was out of my control. I could not intentionally make such a precious little guy. It’s one of those weird miracles of biology, or if you’re religious, God.  Even more amazing and wondrous is the love and dedication I have to him, the hours and hours and hours I’ll spend taking care of him, loving him, working to support him.

A memory comes to mind. When I was in high school one of the girls gave birth. My high school English teacher gave her the assignment to write about her baby. For whatever reason, the teacher let me read what this girl wrote. She wasn’t the greatest writer, but I will always remember one line from her. She was writing about how she loved her baby more than anything and she said, “I love her more than I love my mom”. I realized then that a mom will love her child more than the child will love her back, which is so sad and beautiful at the same time.

I know I love my son so crazy much. He may never really know or understand. All the sleepless nights that feel like torture after a while and yet I still get up with him every time he’s awake at night and consider it well worth it. The expense which already has been considerable and will only grow to some astronomically large number by the time he’s an adult. The times when he’s happy and I could just leave him to play on his own, but instead read him stories or lie on the floor and play with him. The times when he’s fussy and I’ll drop anything I’m doing to comfort him.

Then there are the times when everything is just so perfect with him. When he wakes up in the morning happy and squiggly and ready for a new day. When he meets new people that admire him and I feel so proud of him. When I lie down with him at night and he’s snuggled up against me, I feel more content than I ever have before in my life. When I’m away from him for a little bit and I miss him, but then I come back and the relief and joy I feel at seeing him again is almost overwhelming. I love him and I adore him and I feel incomplete when we’re apart. In short, I have the strong and primal feelings of a mother for her young.

I worry about him like crazy. I feel so exposed now. There is nothing that would be worse to me than if something bad happened to him. All the news stories of bad things happening to people make me think of how I’d feel if that happened to my son.

Everything he owns comes with warnings- his bassinet, his stroller, his car seat, his changing table, his bouncy chair, his bath tub, and his toys all come with warnings about how babies have suffocated or strangled or fallen or choked or smooshed their heads or spontaneously combusted. It’s enough to make a mom feel crazy with worry- and I would worry enough without that. I check just to make sure he’s still breathing sometimes. When he’s napping and he makes some sort of noise, I think with relief, “Oh good, he’s still alive.”

I worry about when he’s old enough to crawl and get into trouble around the house. What if he bashes his head on the rock in front of our fireplace? Or slips on the tile floor? I worry about when he’s old enough to walk and run. He’ll want to climb on things. What if he wants a motorcycle some day?

He has a NASA onesie, but I tell him he’s not allowed to grow up to be an astronaut because it’s too dangerous. His dad tells him he can be an astronaut if he wants to. When he’s a little bigger and he understands more I’ll have to stop saying things like that. I don’t want to keep him in too much of a bubble. I don’t want him to grow up anxious and scared. I want him to be an independent little guy that can take on challenges. Maybe even I would want him to be an astronaut if he wanted. But I’m sure the worry I’d go through if he was would take at least 15 years off my life.

I know that he will never really understand these things. Maybe someday when he has kids of his own, he’ll get a glimmer of it. But none of us wants to think about how somebody wiped our butts for us for years or how we sucked on our mom’s boobs which makes it much harder to appreciate the love involved in such acts.

When I’m nursing my son, I feel like I’ve never been closer to anybody in my whole life. It is such a precious, snuggly, and nurturing act. These days he needs me, maybe loves me without yet knowing what love is, or maybe knowing better than he ever will again. We have such a special bond. And… he won’t even remember it in a few years. For me, it will always be one of the most precious times in my life. For all intents and purposes, for him, it won’t have even existed. But I know (or hope) on some level that all of my nurturing care and love will influence the way his brain forms, that he’ll be a different person for it even if he won’t remember it.

My intense worry for him, for his safety, for his happiness will only annoy him as he grows older. He won’t appreciate it. He’ll rebel against it, saying, “Mom, I’ll be fine.” Right now, I’m fairly certain that I am his favorite person in the whole world. But soon enough, I’ll be the lady that washes his clothes and makes his lunch which he will probably utterly take for granted. Then Dad will be his favorite person- the man he looks up to, the man who teaches him to fix his bike, to play soccer, to shave. But he will still be my favorite person. He will always be the little boy that I love so crazy much.