Monday, November 28, 2011

"Mommy?"


One blurry eyelid opens, then the other. I roll over, to see the silhouette of my 5 year. She's standing with her hand outstretched, clutching a Kleenex. "I have to blow my nose." I sit up, squeeze one nostril, then the other, satisfied she goes back to bed, for 5 minutes. In the last 20 minutes, she's been up 7 times, once to blow her nose, once to tell me she's coughing, once to tell me that she thinks her brother is sick, once to tell me she needs another blanket, once to tell, me she thinks her tummy hurts, another to tell me she might throw up, and then again to let me know she didn't really have to throw up, she just needed to go potty. I appreciate her keeping me so well informed at 2:50 in the morning, really I do. OKAY, that was sarcasm. I'm now wide awake, with little to no chance of going back to sleep, anytime soon.

So, since I'm wide awake and my mind is churning I thought I'd write about what a privilege it is to be the go to girl in the middle of the night. If I choose to look at it the right way, the fact is, that I'm needed, wanted, and preferred. Who else could help my daughter blow her nose quite so expertly? No one.

As the mommy I get to know it first, the good, the bad, the curious. I get help my daughter not only blow her nose, but I also get to help her navigate through life's ups, downs, trials and joys. That is a weighty responsibility. Sometimes, I don't feel up to the task. At those times though, I have to ask myself, "Would I really want to leave the responsibility to anyone else?" Looked at in that light, what are few interruptions in the middle of dream time?

I'm finding, that like anything else, it's all in how you look at it... So, here's to Rose-colored glasses at 3 am. and as a personal side note, it really helps to have a sense of humor.


Happy parenting!!!!!

Saturday, November 26, 2011

Even if....


I didn't have visible signs of it marked in my flesh you would still know. There is a thin, white, horizontal scar four inches below my navel. There are telltale dark circles under my eyes from broken sleep. There are the distinct set of lines in my Gabella from making the "You're in so much trouble!" face. All of these and many more physical manifestations, announce to the keen observer that I am a mother. Some people say that motherhood is a badge. I say, it's a full out costume that not only disguises your outsides but morphs and changes every aspect of your insides as well.

Becoming a mother means that nothing is your own. You have to make room in your heart, because it will be utterly taken over by the love you feel for your child or children. You have to make room in your house for all of the "stuff" children need. You have to make room on your bookshelf for board books about colors and shapes. You have to make room in your bed for those nights when your children are sure there are monsters in their closet. You have to make room in your thoughts, because you will never be able to go for 5 minutes without thinking about your child for one reason or another.

In essence there is no escaping the life altering, phenomenal changes that accompany the introduction of a child into your life. I would never want to escape any of it. Each line, each grey hair, each body part, permanently changed, it's part of the package, the package that makes life so much fuller, sweeter and more complete.

I will, however, welcome the day when I no longer find hair bows, fruit snack wrappers, and dried out wipes in my purse. At this very moment I'm chuckling because in the pockets of my robe there is; one penny, one glue stick, a yellow crayon, one marble and a piece of paper with scribbles on it... Even if I didn't have physical markings of motherhood, all you would have to do is go through my pockets and you would know the circumstantial evidence is overwhelming.

I am a mother.