Motherhood, part one

I recently finished reading this fun and relatable quick-read called Just Let Me Lide Down: Necessary Terms for the Half-insane Working Mom. It is written by the editor of Real Simple, Kristin van Ogtrop, and I just loved it. Most of the book are funny quips and stories of her life as a working mom, but some of her insights I also found particularly poignant.

"Separate issue: The children you bear who will, inevitably, spend most of their lives apart from you. And your issue? That you will never stop missing them, and there's nothing you can do about it...The thrill of seeing one of my children after any absence never goes away. It doesn't matter if he has gone to the nursery for two hours or to a sleepover for one night or to camp for two solid weeks. The excitement of reuniting always surprises me, and I greet my sons with an enthusiasm that no doubt seems overplayed to them...Before I had children, I imagined myself and my future offspring like a mother duck and her ducklings: navigating our way through a big scary world together, united, following the same path. Once I had children, it didn't take me long to realize that separation would define much of motherhood. Now I have come to regard my relationship with each of my kids as if we were pairs skaters: we come together and then move apart, with convergence and independence, following an elaborate routine that we both know. We may be a team, but every hello has a good-bye right behind it....After more than a decade of working motherhood, I have hit many pockets of sadness. Some I have worked through, and some I will be stuck in forever. For example, I have passed through the sad fear that any babysitter can take my place in the hearts and minds of my children. But I will never get over the sting of separation, or the knowledge that the times of separation grow as my children get older. Years go by and, like a brilliant longtime pair of skaters, my children and I adapt our routine. We understand each other's roles without having to define them. I will continue to miss them, no matter how much time passes."

There is much I relate to in this. I too love my seeing my kids after any absence. On work days, my favorite part of the day, hands down, is when I get to pick up my kids. I will never forget Ethan's huge smiling face at the big glass window, or later his "Mommy!" accompanied by a huge hug and showing me all the things he did that day. These, of course, are short absences compared to the long ones that are ahead.

As a mom, I am constantly reminding myself to remember this moment, don't forget this, etch this into your memory. My boys are only 1 and 3 for heaven's sake and yet I already well up with tears at the thought of them leaving home, getting married, becoming adults with their own lives not so integrated into my own. When I had Ethan, I remember lying in my hospital bed in the wee hours of the morning just so completely overwhelmed with the miracle and responsibility that was lying asleep on my chest. I was having immense difficulty breastfeeding and, probably due to hormones, I was rapidly convincing myself that this failure was the harbinger of more and more shortcomings and failures to come in my new role as mother. I was weeping, just weeping. And this statement, divine without a doubt, came to me - All he needs is you. All he needs is you. He does not need you to be perfect. You do not have to measure up to anyone or anything else. All I have to be is who I already am. Now of course every child needs much more than his mother, but in that moment I felt such comfort, relief and freedom.

It took me a while to get used to the complete dependency that a baby has, and I would be lying if I said that it has always been an easy adjustment. Since we waited so long to have a child, I had grown accustomed to freedom and doing what I wanted when I wanted. But, as the commercial says, having a baby changes everything. It requires total selflessness and a life where your children's needs and routine always trump your own. There are times when, after a long hard day, Ethan's nighttime insistence on me reading 8 books plus praying, singing, and cuddling feels like another demand, when all I really want to do just unwind and watch an episode of Gossip Girl. Or when Hudson does not allow me to accomplish anything unless it can be done with one hand, because he insists on being held the better part of the day. But because of my keen awareness of time, maturity, and separation, those negative thoughts don't last long and I instead ache at the thought of someday not doing these things. There will be a day, soon enough, where the thought of his mother putting him to bed, much less usually falling asleep in his bed with him, will be repulsive, embarassing, or both. And there will be day, also soon enough, when Hudson will be too big for me to hold him. And I will long for the days when I could. So I cherish what I have right now in this moment and am grateful for it.

Separation defines much of motherhood. Indeed. But at least I know that never in a million years will I forget the feeling of holding my brand new beautiful baby boy on my chest in the middle of the night. Never in a million years will I forget those "Mommy! I missed you so much" moments. They are forever etched in my memory.