Motherhood

I have been a mother now for nearly my entire adult life. Having my first child when I was 20, there were so many things that I was unprepared for and the road was full of uncertainty. I was young and terrified. I hoped all my life that I would not become the mother that I was born to. I fought through my childhood and adolescent years beating it into my brain that no matter what, no matter how hard it may be or how many obstacles were put in front of me, I would never, never be the mother that she was. I knew that, even if it took everything I had, I would be the mother to my own children that she never could have been for me. So when my first child was born nearly nine years ago, I faced the biggest challenge that I had ever put in my way. He changed my whole world, became my world and shaped my world. He was the one thing that I knew that I could not quit and would never fail. I now lived and breathed for that small being that I barely knew how to care for and yet, it all seemed to fall into place.

After a while, when my husband deployed and I was living half way around the world, isolated from everything that I had known, he became my single driving force to get up every day and continue on with living. He was the person who I ate every meal with, talked to, confided in and cried with. He was all I had, this tiny little baby whom someone or something entrusted me with. His life and well  being relied solely on me. All of this was deeply satisfying and horribly frightening at the same time. At only 21 years old, how in the world was I supposed to take care of him all by myself? How would I know if I had done the right thing? Was he getting enough rest? Eating the right foods? How was I supposed to know!

After the deployments and the military life had ended and our family moved back to the States, we had another child. This time, I was ready. I was aware of all the mistakes that I had made with my son and was determined to not make those mistakes with my daughter. As luck would have it, she turned out to be a polar opposite of my son and I had to relearn how to parent such a dramatically different child. I was not the same person, not in the same circumstances and certainly not alone. Four years have passed since she came into our lives and for the life of me, I still cannot figure out how these two completely different entities have come from the same two people! I t amazes me every day to see how different my children are and I am left wondering if I had made mistakes along the way with my son. Was I too young to be able to be the parent that he needed me to be? Was I smothering? Was I repeating the mistakes, although quite different, that my own birth mother had made? Most importantly, was I doing a good enough job?

I am lucky enough to have an amazing mom in my life who can tell me the truth even if I don't want to hear it. She may not have birthed me, but she is the only mother I have ever really known. She lets me know, on those days when I am feeling especially incompetent at being a mother, that I am doing something that my own mother never did for me. That no matter how much I may doubt my parenting abilities, I should feel confident in that fact that I am parenting- that I am being a mother, that I am there. Nothing comes before my children- nothing. They are my sole purpose in this life, the reason that I do all that I do. My husband has been amazing in the process, allowing me to devote these precious fleeting years as a stay at home mom, giving me the opportunity to give them the solid foundation that I longed so much for when I was their age.  As I peered into my son's room the other night, seeing him engrossed in a new novel, I realized that he may never know the daily internal struggle within my soul to make him happy. He knows only of his fantasy world of magic and wizards. He cannot see past his Lego buildings. He doesn't understand why he has to go to bed. I long for the day when I can believe that I have done a good job. That I am doing a good job. I don't want to be a perfect mother; a child would never learn to walk if he did not have the courage to fall down a few times and get back up again. It is my hope that my children grow up and say that even though I screwed up, I never stopped trying.

I found my daughter lying in my bed tonight, curled up with her blankie and her baby doll. She had fallen asleep waiting for me. I stood over her, knowing that my husband and I would not get much sleep with her in the bed and yet I could not bring myself to move her. Instead I lay down next to her and smelled her hair, touched her tiny fingers and realized how very lucky I was to have such precious gifts. I have gone from a scared twenty year old with a newborn to a slightly less scared twenty nine year old with two kids! I cannot believe that a mother, or a parent, ever stops being a parent. How could my own mother have looked upon me, her other children and just let us go? The thought of not having my children in my life brings nearly instant panic. I am so very greatful that these beautiful children have chosen me to be their mom, that they love me in spite of my flaws. That they keep me grounded and never stop teaching me.