The Unnatural Mom

People say that being a mother is natural; it's instinctive, intuitive, and like second-nature. Lately, I've been wondering if that is indeed true or not.

For starters, during pregnancy many women, including myself, feel lousy, especially in the beginning, the nausea, the vomiting (thankfully, I never did vomit, but my sister-in-law, vomited like it was the latest fashion trend, all the time, everywhere), not to mention all the exhausting excursions that our emotions take. Later on the belly gets strangely large and the most menial of tasks become quite insurmountable, like picking up a stray sock from the floor, or picking up the car keys that you dropped. Forget about giving yourself a pedicure.

Can a person be intellectually honest and still maintain that having a human being grow inside of you then a few months later come out of you from a small opening is natural? It really doesn't feel natural at all, trust me. Then the baby comes and before you can say, "Jiminy cricket," you're a mom (more on that later). What soon follows are many sleepless nights, diapers and more diapers and being a human feeding trough as my husband would say. A few nights ago I was up with my baby for two and a half hours. Somebody tell me what is so natural about that? Giving up of my own plans and wishes doesn't feel second-nature, let me tell you. Not to mention that when I'm at Target and my baby is screaming, I don't feel any sort of intuition floating around in my being telling me what should be done, instead I usually just second-third-seventeenth-guess myself and feel horribly embarrassed. Being a mom often feels like the exact opposite of my first instinct.

That said, the funny thing is that since becoming a mom I haven't really been too shocked at how much work is involved. I worked in a daycare and watched the lives of those around me with kids enough to get a clue into the amount of work that it takes. My quandary is more of the so-called innate capacity to care for my baby perfectly. I guess, looking back at it, I thought that my profound love for my baby would enable me to always feel like doing the work. It's supposed to be natural, right? Maybe I picked up on such a notion because of my dear mother. She definitely made it look easy. I never remember her raising her voice at me; I never heard her complain about anything, really. Had I been able to articulate this before I before I became a mom, I'm certain anyone who already was a mom would have grabbed me by the neck and thrown ice cubes in my face or something to wake me up from la la land, including my own mom (OK, she would have done something nice, she is always nice). I know I shouldn't be surprised by my own pathetic selfish humanity, that's pathetic in of itself. So there it is, my naiveté collapsing before me as I grapple with this being a mom thing.

It is not unlike the idea and more importantly the reality of grace. In my overconfident and self-righteous youthful teens and early twenties I would talk about how wonderful it was to know with certainty that whatever came my way, the grace of God would see me through it. I would say this to people and preach it to anyone who worried about their future. This might seem like sound theology. However, once I struggled through 7 years of relentless day-long daily headaches, grace seemed like some kind of joke. I would tell God this. I didn't feel any supernatural force carrying me through every day. It just seemed like there was Michelle waking each morning and figuring out a way to get out of bed and facing another day in pain, alone. It simply felt like a tremendous amount of effort and work. Yet now that I look back I can see that grace was indeed there, weaving itself through my pain, quietly. The fact that I did get out of bed (most mornings) and did the tasks at hand is proof that grace was at work.

Perhaps that is what people mean when they say that being a mom is second-nature. It's because we do it--everyday--smelly diapers and screaming babies at Target and all. Then again, I didn't know I could love a person as much as I love my baby. I don't naturally love other people like that. The moment I first looked at her I loved her deeply. Before she even looked at me, or smiled at me or hugged me back, I simply loved her. My heart swelled up so much with love that it pounded against the walls of my chest, begging for more room. It actually ached. It's a strange thing, really. Typically, we love people because they give us something in return like, friendship, admiration, forgiveness, their time; they love us back in some capacity and depth. Yet, with my baby, I love her, even in the moments when I feel frustrated or tired. She doesn't have to give me anything in return, I simply love her. I think all moms feel this way. Maybe that's what makes being a mom so naturally, beautifully unnatural.