The New Perfect - Essay # 3

*What motherhood means to Carmela, mother of 14-month-old Raphael*

I was worried that motherhood would become something so all encompassing that I would be stripped of my former identity; my sense of humor would vanish, and I would be reduced to a haggard spit up-soaked slave to my child. My career would no longer be important, and conversations with me would be reduced to insipid pureed mush. Fortunately, motherhood has been none of these things.

Nonetheless, motherhood has made me realize that you cannot always be an overachiever. I now willingly accept “good enough.” Life has been stripped down to the essential; decision making is a constant battle between “necessary” and “nice to have.”

I realize that brunch can be served with just waffles and fruit salad, with eggs, bagels, lox, and the fragrant aroma of homemade cinnamon rolls existing only in my nostalgic memory of pre-child Sunday mornings. I forgive myself for not cleaning the bathroom before houseguests arrive, and I accept that, until Raphael is old enough to stir a pot or grab a bucket and a sponge, a heavy dose of pragmatism will be required.

Motherhood is, however, holding a small piece of perfection. For an ephemeral moment, I can look at my son and love everything about him. For a blissful moment, there are no character flaws or complexes. My entire being smiles as he shrieks with glee when the wind tosses his hair in all directions or when he sticks his hand out to feel the rain. I laugh when he teases me by popping his thumb in his grinning mouth, just to have me take it out again and again.

For the past 14 months, each day has been better than the previous one. Each day I wonder what new discovery Raphael will make. When I’m away from him, I daydream about something he might like to see or do. I imagine him smiling his gummy grin, with just the slightest hint of self-satisfaction. I picture him turning his head and looking back at me, with a mischievous twinkle in his eye, as he heads at breakneck speed for some forbidden corner of the apartment.

I see his personality evolving, and I see parts of myself and my husband. As a mother, I want to protect him from the inevitable things that come with growing up: hurt feelings, disappointment, frustration, and anger. I can’t stop myself from imaging him as a little boy or young man and wishing that I could protect him forever. If only, somehow, I could make him a little less shy, maybe a bit less critical, and perhaps a touch more patient than his parents.

Most of all, though, I hope my little child stays perfect for just one more day.

*Carmela* *October 6, 2010* *450 words*

The Motherhood Equation - Essay #2

*What motherhood means to Francesca, mother to 2.5-year-old Bianca*

They say that the bond between a child and a mother is the strongest possible bond there is.

I’m a full time student and my husband is a stay-at-home dad. I’ve found that motherhood as it’s defined by society is being the center of your child’s care and the center of your child’s life. Being the one your child looks to first when they’re hurt or tired.

I don’t know anything about this kind of motherhood.

When my daughter is sick or hungry her dad is the first person she wants. When she asks me to run with her around the house, it’s for her to run away from me and for her dad to “protect” her. When I hold her in my arms, staring into her beautiful dark brown eyes and fondly ask, "are you my baby?" she answers with a coy smile, "no, daddy baby."

I laugh and pretend she’s made a funny joke, because I know that’s the right thing to do. She only speaks the truth of her experience. She is daddy’s baby.

I feel left out at times. Sometimes when we’re out shopping she won’t let me push the stroller because she wants daddy to. Sometimes she asks for milk, but doesn’t want me to give it to her because she needs daddy to.

I’m working toward a Ph.D. in cellular biology. I’m not even sure if it will earn me a decent paying job when I graduate. I’m scared to death I’m working so hard for little return on investment later.

But sometimes when she hears me come home, she runs and jumps on me and gives me a big hug. Sometimes when I hold her she puts her hand to the side of my face and says "mommy beautiful hair." Sometimes it feels like she’s really mine.

My most favorite time with my daughter is when daddy isn’t around. I urge him to go to rugby practice as much as he can. I try to convince him to spend the weekend at a friend’s house. Why? Because when it’s just me and her I am mommy. She wants my attention. She’s excited to be with me and wants me to play games with her. Sometimes we go shopping or just play outside, it doesn’t matter. It’s just fantastic that she is enjoying her time with me.

And if I have a week or two off, it gets really good. She’s so excited that I’m home everyday and by the end of the week she’s coming to me as much she goes to him.

Motherhood comes down to time spent. The more you put in the more you get out. But it also means sacrifice. Sometimes motherhood is sacrificed to give our children a home and an enriched life. Though they may not understand our absence now, they will be proud of our hard work later. That’s what I hold on to when daddy’s baby doesn’t want me around.

*Francie* *October 5, 2010* *490 words*

Love Hurts - Essay #1

*What motherhood means to Sarah, mother to 6-month-old Scarlett (aka Scout)*

Motherhood is falling in love. Some days, when I’m too tired to be very interesting, my daughter and I lie in bed together and just stare at each other. I kiss her forehead and her cheeks; she pulls my hair and tries to eat my nose. I sing her songs; she screeches in my face and punches me. Though it may sound like a one-sided romance, I know that when she rakes her teeny nails across my face, she is really expressing her total and unwavering devotion to me. (And maybe she is reminding me that it’s time to find the nail clippers.) Ah, the passion of a new relationship. Will it be like this forever? No chance.

Right now, our relationship is uncomplicated. Every morning when I lift her from her crib, she looks at me like she can’t believe her luck that it’s ME again. Sometimes she sees me and just laughs (this might be because I haven’t brushed my hair in a few days), and other times when I’m holding her to my chest, I look down to see that she is gazing up at me quietly.

It doesn’t matter that I’m tired, that my hair looks like this, that when I do make it to a yoga class I spend the whole time thinking of all the other things I should be doing. My baby needs me, and my reward for meeting her needs is the brilliance of a smile that turns her eyes into little rainbows, and the sweetness of her contagious giggle. Sometimes it’s also the sweetness of pureed peas being flung at my pants.

But someday she’ll realize that I am always there, and the excitement created by my very existence will fade. We will enter a period of familiarity, that natural progression of even the fiercest love. She will reject me, fight with me, tell me everything I’m doing to annoy her and ruin her life. She will do these things because she is secure in my love for her. But I’m certain that won’t make it any easier to take.

And I suppose that this is motherhood, too. The fact of loving someone so intensely, and then having her grow up and away from you while you can only watch. Already she is changing so much, becoming more independent, putting tiny touches on her burgeoning personality. The things she couldn’t do yesterday—she can do them today. And she’ll just keep becoming herself, a person who I don’t even entirely know yet, a person who will most definitely be taller than me.

So today, in this moment, what I feel most about being her mother is grateful. So incredibly grateful for this time we have to just stare, to sing, to squeeze the soft part of a chubby arm (I really should get to yoga more often.) Our love may grow and change, along with my daughter, but it will definitely last. I do hope there will eventually be less punching.

*Sarah* *October 3, 2010* *500 words*

Read more fabulous posts from Sarah here and here.

Breathless - my motherhood essay

Motherhood is never having enough time. You never have enough time for yourself: to do those morning sit-ups, to match your clothes or to even have bought matching clothes in the first place, to fix your hair, to read any of the articles you want to read, to read the Sunday Times on Sunday.

It is official: you will now have to give up on those far-fetched life goals like writing a novel, riding your bicycle across America, living a life of meditation on some deserted mountaintop, because you may have thought you were busy before but now, really, you truly don't have the time.

The only moments when time slows down are those endless nights when you are trying to get your son to sleep, singing Ani DiFranco's 'Tis of Thee over and over, because that song has somehow become your go-to lullaby in times of deep distress. At times like those, time just about stops.

The most heartbreaking part? You don't have enough time for your son. You keep thinking you will get to this place where you can stop and take a breath and realize that everything, for the moment, is just perfect. But then you realize that moment already came and went. For just one second after he ran into the neighbors' yard and pulled out their pinwheel and, over his shoulder, gave you such a smile of accomplishment that you forgot about what a rush you were in. It came for 15 fat seconds when he woke up from his nap calm and talkative and let you run your fingers through his hair. It came for nearly a full minute, when he leaned his heavy head against your chest as you read him One Fish Two Fish. It flashed on and off when he climbed into bed with you and your husband and you took turns tickling him.

You were too busy to see these moments for what they were and now he is asleep and the day is gone and tomorrow, tomorrow will be something brand new. He might stop doing that ridiculous thing where he insists that you tell him and every item of clothing he is wearing to "come on," before he will walk down the street with you ("come on hat, come on pants, etc."). He might stop calling the color "orange" "juice." It could be weeks before you realize he stopped doing these things, and you will sit glassy eyed and wonder what else you might have missed.

Sometimes you will be lucky enough to realize you are living a perfect moment, right now, but it won't last long. You will want to freeze time and bottle it, the way you can capture his pudgy hand print with acrylic paint and paper and save it forever. But you can't. There is never enough time to take it all in. There is barely enough time to breathe.

*Cameron* *October 1, 2010* *490 words*

Motherhood - call for submissions

I watched this terrible movie the other night - "Motherhood," with Uma Thurman and Minnie Driver. Uma Thurman is a harried mom trying to plan her 6-year-old daughter's birthday party while taking care of her 2-year-old son. She lives in the West Village, about a mile south of Chelsea, where we lived with Roan until he was nine months old. And let me tell you, New Yorkers are nowhere near as rude and hostile to moms as they were to Uma. The stuff that happened to her was just over-the-top unbelievable, the dialog ridiculously malicious. And the worst inconsistency: Billy's Bakery is NOT open until midnight. They close at 10PM. BELIEVE ME PEOPLE, I WOULD KNOW.

During all this, Uma (an aspiring writer) is entering a contest where she has to write 500 words on what Motherhood means to her. The most horrible thing about the movie? After despising every minute of it I actually cried at the end, when she reads her entry. Because despite the fact that she's a loathsome character, that last little snippet rang true to me. There is nothing more shameful than being brought to tears by a movie that is so easy to make fun of. When did I become such a softie?

What's even worse is that I am actually inspired by this atrocious movie to enter the pretend contest and write 500 words on what Motherhood means to me. Unlike Uma, I'm not giving myself a deadline. And, I think it would be really fun to hear from the moms who read this blog. Here is my plea: Moms, I know you are busy and have about 8 million other things to do that are a lot more important, but, will you take some time out of your day and send me 500 words on Motherhood? To the moms who have grown children who no longer live at home: I can't imagine that you are all that busy, so really, you have no excuse not to enter.

To put it in perspective, 500 words is really short. By the end of this sentence, this post will already be 375 words long, and didn't it just fly by? I'll post any entries on the blog, or link out if you've got your own blog (or you want to post elsewhere). There will be a prize! If you enter, I will buy you a Billy's cupcake. Though, if you live far away, I might just have to eat it for you too. Hell, you don't even have to be a mom to enter. I would love to hear back from you, all of you, wherever you are!

The quality of my entry will be dependent on the length of Roan's nap... to be posted soon!

New Camera!

Testing, testing, 1, 2, 3,...

Fake smile

Pancake Sunday

Chivalry: not dead for the under 2 set

Last Days of Summer

Lavallette from Cameron McClure on Vimeo.

Last weekend we went to the Jersey Shore. We stayed in a town called Lavallette, in a house just one house away from the boardwalk, where you could hear the ocean from our bedroom. The house belongs to Rachel, who is Michael's mother. Michael was Jay's best friend, and is who Roan Michael is named for.

It was a quiet weekend, as the season officially ends after Labor Day, and the recent storms may have discouraged visitors. Roan rode his bike up and down the boardwalk, played on the beach, ate his first homemade Bouillabaisse and his first funnel cake, went to an aquarium, and rode all the carnival rides he was tall enough for. The most exciting by far was the Crazy Bus, which was fascinating for him to watch but terrifying for him to ride.

I'm in between cameras at the moment, so we brought the video camera along. Unfortunately, most of the carnival footage was shot by my husband, who is undeniably terrible with a video camera. The footage lurches around, randomly zooming in and out, and coming to rest on such intriguing visuals as my husband's shoes. But the commentary nearly makes it worth watching, as there are gems like, "ugh, I'm gonna have to stand up now," and "not so good at this camera thing." He tries to interview Roan after each ride, Eric McClure style, but Roan blows him off every time.

Here is the best 15 seconds from the Crazy Bus:

Crazy Bus from Cameron McClure on Vimeo.