Evolution of Motherhood

Mom & David 2/03

Mom and Roman 7/08

Dad, Mom and Nora 3/11

I became a mom two months shy of my 22nd birthday. I didn't feel too young to become a mom; I was really excited to be in charge of something important, is how I saw it. I would be the conductor to the orchestra of my child's life. I should have known that I did not have absolute control the day David made his arrival. My water broke two days before my due date and I didn't go into active labor on my own. 24 hours after induced labor, I was told I would need a cesarean because I hadn't progressed enough. In addition to that shock, the surgeon ended up putting me under, because I could still feel the incision being made despite a spinal block. I knocked out at the moment I heard little David's first cry. When I woke up two hours later, the first words out of my mouth were, "I'm a mom! I'm a mom." The nurse, Rhoda, smiled down at me as she wheeled me back to my room and said, "I've never seen anyone so excited to be a mom before!" I was beaming with pride. "Where is he? Where's my baby?" they had yet to bring him to me from the nursery. As soon as they placed David in my arms, I looked into his big brown eyes and I just smiled. Here was my baby! I will always remember the look in his eyes, as he so very clearly looked at my face, "There you are. I was wondering where you went." It didn’t matter how he arrived, he was here in my arms and I would forever be his protector, his mother.

 

I was determined to show how serious my new job was to me. I read everything I could about proper parenting. I scheduled his doctor appointments at the exact day they were due. I called the doctor about anything suspicious: why hasn't he pooped? (why haven't I pooped?), why is he eating all the damn time?!, oh, my GOD he sucked on my finger right after I used hand sanitizer, did I poison my baby?!, and please-don't-call-CPS, but I fell asleep with my baby on my chest and accidently dropped him on the floor! *crying* As he got older we joined Mommy-and-Me group at the library, we played at the park after I picked him up from his daycare/preschool at the community college I attended, I always had healthy snacks and water in the car, I developed a routine for every day, including a bedtime routine that included reading at least two or three books, I ordered books from Scholastic each time his daycare provided an opportunity, I made sure every holiday was special, and every birthday was a huge success. For his fourth birthday I took the day off work, we went to the Woodland Park Zoo in the morning, had Red Robin (his favorite restaurant) for lunch, went to see "Bridge to Terabithia" at Kent Commons (where I shamelessly cried at the end), and came home and had his favorite dinner of steak, rice and "leaves" (salad). The next day we had a big party with a bounce house, pizza, piñata and all his friends from daycare and our family. I believed I had succeeded at mothering.

Then came kindergarten. I was so excited for my little man to begin school. I felt I had prepared him, he'd been attending preschool, I had created many opportunities for him to explore and socialize. I had been reading to him since the day he was born, afterall. I, I mean, he was prepared, right? Yes. A few months into David starting Kindergarten I got a letter from his teacher, Mrs. Fazio. David would need to take extra classes to help him with his reading. What?! Surely you people must be out of your damn minds and expecting way too much from a Kindergartner. I was pissed. I immediately rattled off an email to his teacher stating that, a-hem, excuse me, but I have been reading to David since he was an infant and he attended preschool with the most awesome of teachers. I beg your pardon, my son needs help reading? Perhaps you need to reassess your expectations! Harrumph. She kindly wrote back that it was normal for Kindergartners to need extra help. I wrote back another email that took on the tone of the little boy from "Big Daddy" when he's being taken away by the Social Worker and he tells Sonny, "But, I wipe my own ass!", I wrote "But I've been reading to him since he was a baaaaay-beeeee!" :( I'm a good mom (!) was what I was trying to say. I took his need for help as a personal attack on my mothering. I had failed my son. His need for help was ALL my fault and I was, officially, the worst mother in the world. I gave up. What's the point in being a good mom now if I've failed? Roman was three months old at this time and I didn't read to him one bit. I remember my mom asked me if I was reading to Roman and I said, "What's the point? It obviously didn't help David." My mom replied, "But, just think, David could have been even further behind if you hadn't read to him." Not wanting to give my mom any indication that she might be accurate, I just shrugged my shoulders. I did start reading to Roman, half-heartedly, knowing it wasn't going to do any darn good. Harrumph.

But, a funny thing happened when Roman was about 18 months old. He started taking a keen interest in books. He actually asked me to read to him. David hadn't ever done that. As Roman started talking more, he started asking me questions about the books. David hadn't done that, either. After a few months in preschool, Roman knew his ABC's. David didn't really recite the alphabet until his second year of preschool. Could it be that each child is different, despite being raised by the same people? Things started coming into focus. Maybe little David didn't share my love of books, maybe little David thought differently than me. As David has gotten older, his reading has greatly improved. However, he does not necessarily enjoy reading the way I did when I was 9. And that is OK. I can live with that. The boy reads. Where David excels is math and mechanics. He is quick with numbers, I was not quick with numbers. In fact, in third grade I needed remedial math classes. He can build planes and guns and other intricate things with Legos. When I was young, hell, even now, my Lego creations consist of cube shaped "buildings". So, I decided to focus on what he was good at and what made him happy, instead of what he did (or how he did it) that reflected well on my mothering. It was hard for me to accept that I had no control over who he is.

A few years ago I read this by Kahlil Gibran:

"Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.
You may give them your love but not your thoughts,
For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow,
which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
You may strive to be like them,
but seek not to make them like you.
For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.
You are the bows from which your children
as living arrows are sent forth.
The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite,
and He bends you with His might
that His arrows may go swift and far.
Let your bending in the archer's hand be for gladness;
For even as He loves the arrow that flies,
so He loves also the bow that is stable."

 
Reading this set me back upright. I have made changes to the way I think and how I do. I used to think that I would be judged for not doing it “by the book”. I used to think that if I didn’t have the answers, it meant I wasn’t supposed to be a mom. I thought if my child struggled, I had failed. I’ve been a mom now for nine and a half years. I have evolved. I went from conductor to farmer. Our children are not our puppets. Our children are the bounty of our garden. It is our responsibility to make sure they have sun, water, and space to grow. Let us not be the pesticides to our children’s growth. Let us raise our children organically and see what kind of original bounties we produce.

Dave loves the ocean

Roman loves worms

 

Nora loves being outside