One of the recurrent themes for new moms is "no one ever told me". But once you've been at it for a while - usually when you've been asked something by another soon-to-be mom - you realize that no one ever told you because no one ever could.
Not only does motherhood defy the power of language, confounding even the most artful among us; but the nature of motherhood is so personal and changing that even if one could describe motherhood, it would utterly fail to take into account any other mother and her children. And the story of your own motherhood will be a different story today than in another week, or year, or decade, or generation.
Today, I went to church (alone - my kids still in jammies and covered in cinnamon bun frosting when I left) wearing waterproof mascara. The pragmatist in me knows that days like today are apt to leave me weepy for any and every reason - joy, thankfully, being chief among them.
I listened to the lay pastor speak (our regular pastor is out of town for their son's wedding) about the idea "worthy to be mother". I tried not to balk at the title because of the word "worthy". My inner infertile hates words that are so loaded, implying that those without children are somehow un-worthy. I focused instead on the road I've traveled to get to my own motherhood. An uneasy and unpredictable road, to be sure. But one that taught me so many lessons, too.
Sometimes I think that if I'd had an easy first pregnancy, and never been through loss, my understanding of motherhood would be much more prideful and shallow. I DO NOT MEAN THAT ANYONE ELSE WHO HASN'T BEEN THROUGH LOSS IS PRIDEFUL OR SHALLOW. Hear me well: I mean that I (me - no one else) would have been.
Up until that point in my life I took things too seriously, too literally, and too directly. I believed that if you did good, you got good. And that if you did bad, you got bad. I would have had a hard time seperating my children from my own ego, seeing them as an extension of me, and not much more. It sounds harsh to say that, but I think it's fairly accurate.
And I am thankful now to understand that life is not at all about deservedness. On the contrary, life deals a surprisingly uneven hand and sometimes doesn't mete out justice until the end. (That's my own personal belief, at least.)
A few days ago, I caught about two minutes of Oprah's interview with John Edward's wife. The part I heard included Oprah's question about a quote in her book, when she said that death looks different to those who have put a child in the ground.
Some may take that as a horrifyingly dark thought - akin to resignation and defeat. But not me. While I couldn't imagine the great pain of leaving behind my two girls, I also acknowledge that the fear of dying is softened by my belief that I will, one day, see my sons.
And so I'm glad that they are a part of my life and a part of my eternity. And it gives new joy to days like today, when I can look at my frosting-and-cinnamon-coated girls and absolutely swim in the love of this family, in the bond that I have with them, in the bond they will take forward for all their life.
The other night, I lay awake thinking about my motherhood, and I turned on my bedside lamp and wrote out a poem - something I haven't doen since college. It's rough and completley unedited, but I thought I'd share to honor this day, to honor my own mother and and all of my friends: mothers and one-day mothers, each writing their own version of the story.
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.
