Being a Mom

Owen and I go on morning walks. Which sounds like a romantic and nice mommy/son thing to do - and it is - but the reason these walks started is because he gets really restless in the morning and I'd rather walk him in his stroller than pull him down from the baby gate that he is climbing for the thousandth-time-after-I've-told-him-no-but-he's-a-baby-and-doesn't-understand-what-no-means-yet-so-maybe-I-should-just-get-him-a-helmet.

This morning's walk.

I mention this because we often walk down to the outdoor cafe in our neighborhood where he can look at all the people coming and going and make friends with those so inclined.  And this morning, a woman came up and was fascinated with O.  I think she may be the type to just be fascinated in general - a little hippie-ish, a little wide-eyed.  And she said to me with a tone of amazement, "Aren't you just loving it?"  And by 'it' she meant being a mom.

I don't know how to answer that. The answer is, of course, yes.  I love being Owen's mom.  I get choked up when I think about how much I love him. But it's also more complicated than that.  Is being a mom all roses and fairytales and sunshine like her tone implied?  It can be...in moments that are strung together.  And that string of moments is also sprinkled with moments of exhaustion and heartache and yes, sometimes, boredom and even loneliness.  For every magical smile there is a pained cry.

Yesterday Owen woke up with a pretty bad diaper rash so I put some Burt's Bees diaper rash cream on him (never again). It made it worse.  And even though I wiped it off by 7 in the morning, every time I changed his diaper the rest of the day he would gasp in pain and cry so sadly and it broke my heart. Especially because by trying to make him feel better with the cream, I made him feel worse.  It was my fault.  Even though I didn't know his skin would react that way, it was my fault.  And I felt terrible.

That's just a small example but it's fresh in my mind.  So when this woman asked me how much I loved being a mom, I found myself saying, "We had a rough start but we're loving it now."  Not sure why I used the royal 'we' but that's what came out.  And we did have a rough start - which I know I haven't fully explained on here yet.  Trust me, I'm writing it out but I keep finding ways to procrastinate finishing the story - which isn't even that traumatic, especially in light of what other women have gone through, but it's long and delicate and mine.  And the start is still ongoing and there are moments of bliss and moments of doubt.

And this woman who had stardust in her eyes while gazing at Owen and while asking a seemingly innocuous question, surprised me and said, "It's hard, isn't it? I feel like when we become moms a part of us dies.  But then a part of us is reborn.  We're also born as moms, which is so different than anything else we've been in our lives."  And, yes.  Yes.  We're born too.  And that analogy just made me feel a little better. It allowed me, for a moment, to be kinder to myself.

Being new in the world is no picnic.  As a baby, you can't do all the things you want - like get to where you want to be or talk so you can say what you need.  You need help doing everything.  And as you grow, you learn.  And you fail countless times as you try to crawl.  And you fall countless times as you try to walk.  And you babble incoherently.  And then all of a sudden, one day, you're mobile.  You can get to that toy you've wanted.  And one day, you can say "mama" because that's who you need at that moment.  And then the next challenge is thrown so you adapt and change and grow and fail and fail and fail until you succeed.  And you become a person.

Motherhood is new and squishy and messy and worth it.  And sometimes we need help.  And sometimes we feel like we're SuperMom. And sometimes we just need someone to listen.  And sometimes we fail. And fail.  And fail.  Until we succeed.  And then the next challenge is thrown.  And we adapt and change and grow.  And some things come totally naturally.  And some things don't.  And those 'things' are different for all of us.  And we are born.  And reborn.  And sometimes an honest moment with a stranger reminds you of that.  Even if you've been told in some form or another by everyone who knows and loves you.

It's hard, isn't it?  And so worth it.