Motherhood

Before you all get the idea from my previous post this afternoon that I'm completely morose, borderline schizo and had a horrible, horrible day, let me say that I am none of those things. Paranoid, yes. But I had a good day - despite the fact that it wasn't what I was expecting. It was a good day because my husband made me pancakes, my children hugged me, I got to hug my mother, and I got to be Mommy to my sick baby girl.

I've mentioned before that as a result of this pregnancy I've been contemplating motherhood. No-one can ever explain to you how being a mother forever changes you. I mean, they can try, but nothing can really prepare you. Becoming a *good* mother demands sacrifice, and let's be honest - who amongst us really likes sacrifice?

When I see first-time mothers, pregnant and scared, or women without kids terrified by the prospect of having kids and how it will change them, I can't help but gush. Yes, there is a price to pay, and yes, it is a high one, but oh my word it is SO worth it! That's the only reason I was prepared to try for a baby again. I know that there's a very high probability we will lose this baby and my heart will be broken again. I know that, but I'm willing to try. Why? Because having kids is the biggest and most incredible privilege in the world. While I absolutely want to honour my own mother for her sacrifice, part of me feels that on Mother's Day mothers should be the one saying thank you to their kids, not the other way around. Thank you for being my baby. Thank you for allowing me to be your Mommy. Thank you for the joy you bring into my life. Thank you for the lessons you have taught me. Thank you for thinking so highly of me, even when I screw up so regularly.

My favourite things about being a Mommy? Like Browning, I want to respond... "How do I love thee? Let me count the ways..."

I love the smell of my baby's head (even now she's a little girl).
I love the feel of her skin.
I love the shape of her face.
I love the feel of her little body hugging me.
I love the weight of her head resting on my shoulder.
I love the way she calls me when she's really in need - cut her finger, or bumped herself.
I love that sometimes she wants Mommy to wash/ carry/ feed/ help her.
I love the way she plays with her father.
I love the sound of her giggles.
I love the way she copies the adults who care for her.
I love the way she plays with her dogs.
I love her excitement about the world around her.
I love her curiosity about life.
I love her expressions of delight - squealing and jumping and clapping her hands.
I love that she is developing a sense of humour.
I love the way she lies in bed when she sleeps.
I love that she knows the difference between pretend and real.
I love that she is still (mostly) predictable.
I love watching her develop new skills and show unfettered pride in them.
I love her generous spirit.
I love that her nails are always dirty (it means she's been playing outside).
I love that she loves me, that she wants me to reassure her that I am *her* Mommy.

And loving her as I do, I can't but help be so grateful for her presence in my life. The price to pay for that privilege is high, but I'm very willing to pay it, and to go on paying it for the rest of my life. Sometimes I think that letting your kids go must be the most painful price to pay, but also the greatest joy as you accomplish your goal of raising healthy, responsible, mature adults.

A blogger friend wrote this poem for Mother's Day, and I think it's rather apt:

You were costly,
but we paid the price
eagerly
joyously.

You were carved from
our bone
fattened by our
very marrow
leeched out from
our souls.

You were costly
but we paid the price
knowing no certainty
awaits.

We bore you up
on aching arms
shifted weight from
foot to foot

stood breaking-back
vigil
over cribside dark
stroking cheeks
with worried look.

You were costly
but we paid the price
eagerly
joyously.

You bruised our limbs
and splintered toys
pierced ears with
raucous shrieking noise
soaked our shoulders
with soundless
sobs

You were costly
but we paid the price
proudly
humbly

begging to be put to the
test
to be granted this risk
to hold heaven
to touch bliss

And in His abundance
He sold pricelessness
for cheap

needing nothing
but wanting all
gave us everything
gave us you.

You were costly
but we paid the price
vouchsafed by our love
secured with our lives

we paid the price
eagerly
joyously.