Rockwell Moments - Essay #5

*What motherhood means to Erica, mother to 3-month-old Zachary*

On November 20th, 2010 motherhood was pain. Gone were any sweet thoughts of carefully folded onsies, perfectly coordinated bedding, and over-priced birth announcements. That baby needed to get the hell out of my body---right now. Our 41 week co-habitation was coming to an intense end in ways that only a first-timer could not have imagined.

Eventually Zachary did make his appearance, and since then motherhood has been many things.

Motherhood is wanting so badly for the little one to take a nap, but when the nap goes on and on, wanting even more badly for him to wake up and begin the endless feed, burp, change, sing, read, cuddle and soothe cycle.

Motherhood is speeding home after an hour away, and wanting to know in great detail everything that happened during those 60 minutes.

Motherhood is having the intention of writing this essay for two whole months, but never finding the right moment---always too busy or too tired.

Sometimes my life feels like a Norman Rockwell painting. I adore my handsome husband, my baby boy is so sweet and perfect, we have a comfortable home, the fireplace is lit, the Christmas decorations are still up-----and all I really have to do all day is love my baby. Well, that and lose 15 pounds, write a thesis, keep up the house, and somehow continue advancing my career…. But whatever, these snap shot moments are blissful, and I have experienced a contentment in these past two months that is refreshingly new.

Of course there are the Rockwell outtakes. A neighbor would be more likely to peek in our window and see this less than idyllic scene: I am half-dressed, Zachary has been fussy/screaming bloody murder and the blow-dryer/vacuum trick is not working but both appliances are still running full blast, Clint is a minute late and I am literally staring out the window willing him to pull up in the red Jeep and save me, and the part of me that's dressed has been wearing the same annoying pants for two months now because they are the only ones that fit.

If I said motherhood was always a dream I would be lying---and all you other mothers would know it. But I can say that I have discovered love that I didn’t think possible, a pride that I have never before felt (I have finally learned to use a camera! And I'm taking pictures!), and sometimes, despite my sleep-deprivation, I just cannot wait for my little one to wake up. I’m sure all you other mothers out there know the feeling.

*Erica* January 24, 2011* *420 words*

Seize the Day - Essay #4

*What motherhood means to Pamela, mother to 4-month-old Eva*

Being a mother means thinking about writing this essay for three days before there is actually time to do it, writing half of it, and then trying to write more, piece by piece, for several weeks after the fact before it is actually finished.



Being a mother means an ache in my heart when I leave her in the morning and a bizarre sense of accomplishment and focus at work that I hadn’t expected, and feel guilty about regularly. Motherhood is conflicting emotions. When I pick her up at the end of the day, I want to smother her with hugs and kisses and smack the nursery director in the face as she coos with my daughter and recounts just how much fun they had together all day. When we are alone her simple smile fills up my heart and my eyes, with tears and I ask myself how I can leave this creature to be taken care of by someone else. After nearly four months, motherhood means being spoken to and yelled at in a language I can't yet understand- an endless guessing game of getting to know each other. It means founding her fan club and keeping it going for the next hundred years. 



Being a mother means sacrificing (in whatever form sacrifice may come), without question, for her; putting her needs before mine. My pre-motherhood fetish for shoes has turned into a nearly obsessive attraction to tiny little ones for which I have to convince myself she’ll grow out of too quickly to be worth buying. So, perhaps I have not become completely selfless, because her happiness gratifies me and gives me an indescribable satisfaction.

A sense of time and mortality have come over me, that I’ve never felt before. Absolutely nothing is forever and everyday is to be cherished and not just floated through as the current carries you. And time. There is never enough. You can't borrow it, steal it, save it, lend it, let it collect interest, get it back from a friend to whom you lent it, or earn more of it for something good you did. But, you can waste it. Being a parent brings new meaning to the cheesy maxim 'live everyday as if it were your last.'

Eva grabbed one of the toys hanging in the baby gym, held it in her hand and stared at it for the first time yesterday and it'll never happen again. I can only hope that her father or I will be present for as many of her firsts as time permits, even the small ones. The realization that I will not live forever may have scared the hell out of me only 13 months ago, but fear is not an option anymore. I have to accept and prepare for this fact. She must have everything she needs. I need to teach her love and independence and loyalty; all the important lessons in life, and of course not to smack the nursery director just because you may be jealous of her.

*Pamela* *October 9, 2010* *510 words*

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*