Before You Can Say, Jiminy Cricket!

I get a kick out of reading stats on risk assessment. For example, "if you eat so many helpings of broccoli per day you will reduce your risk of getting cancer by such and such a percent," or "if you exercise three times a week..." and blah, blah, blah it goes.

When you get pregnant there are a host of other ones like anything from caffeine intake to highlighting your hair. The idea is to minimize any potential risks of harming your baby, a very good thing to do. However, in my opinion that whole idea gets tossed out the window the minute your baby comes out. Before you can say, "Jiminy cricket," you've been launched into a carrier that you cannot change your mind about with absolutely no previous experience.

Imagine: someone wakes up and decides he/she would like to be a doctor. So without going to school for it this person sets up an office to see patients. Sure, this person has been a patient him/herself and has seen a lot of shows on TV about doctors and seems to have a general idea of what a doctor does. But seriously, would anyone ever go see such a "doctor?" Obviously not, it's a no brainer, right? Observation does not equal qualification.

I know people say that nine months of pregnancy is to help prepare a woman for becoming a mom. But let's face it, it really doesn't. It might be uncomfortable to be pregnant or even difficult to sleep well or turn corners, but it offers absolutely no experience at being a mom. I'm surprised there are no universities that offer a BA in Motherhood. What's up with that? For everything else there is a degree. In fact, so many menial jobs require a degree. That makes no sense. We're talking about baby humans whose physical, emotional and spiritual development and well-being are reliant on rookie care.

I remember when my baby was born Christopher and I were worried we were going to break her, she seemed so fragile. Was she starving? Was one eye bigger than the other? Is she still breathing? Was she comfortable? Was she in pain? Would her belly button fall off OK? Why was she rolling her eyes back? Was the soft spot on her head too big?

Many, I think, would say that I was well prepared to have a baby. When I was only six years old I changed my baby brother's diapers and gave him baths. As an adult I was in charge of two age groups at a daycare for several years, babysat all kinds of babies in all kinds of situations. Yet when I had my very own baby I still felt overwhelmed at times and still do.

As I write this my baby is sleeping peacefully surrounded by all her little fluffy friends and two sippy cups. She is wearing a green skirt over her pajamas and her right hand/arm is adorned by a pink striped knee high sock (she seemed very pleased by how she looked). Somehow she has survived her rookie parents' care thus far and she seems to like me and her papai quite a lot and we definitely like her.

I'm happy to report that her eyes are the same size, she's been breathing well ever since she came out, her belly button fell off just fine, the soft spot on her head turned out to be the normal size and she only rolls her eyes if she annoyed (wait a minute, I'm the one who does that).

Maybe that is why there is no degree in Motherhood. You can only learn as you go. There is no other way.

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.

The "New" New Years Resolution

Every New Years Day I get over-inspired and over-motivated. My mind gets creatively lofty with miraculous goals for the year ahead, things that can only be accomplished in one's mind, never in reality. This year will be different. I was inspired by my bottomless laundry basket of clothes begging to get out of there. You see, in the last several weeks I have made a new goal regarding these desperate clothes. Instead of telling myself that I will fold them that day, I will fold them in one week's time. That way, if I fold them in one week's time I can feel great about it, but if I happen to get them done before I can still feel great. (Last week, though, the baskets were overflowing, so I came up with an "emergency only" clause which says that stuffing them back into the dryer if guests are coming over is OK). This has done wonders for my sense of self-accomplishment, I've been patting' myself in the back left and right.

So, I figure I should capitalize on this new kind of principle by applying it to all aspects of my life. It might offer wonderful ego boosts all throughout the year. Keeping true to this principle, my motto for this year's resolution is, "keep it simple, keep it vague, keep it low-key, keep it mediocre." Here it is:



Michelle's Goals for 2008 (in the case of emergency, this list may be edited)

1. I will always clean my house once-in-a-while.

2. I will lose 3 pounds.

3. I will do my best to try to be nicer sometimes.

4. I will hope to exercise four times this year alone.

5. I will do more in every sense of the word.

6. I will think of others first as much as I can.

7. I will always fold laundry.

8. I will always cook food.

9. I will be a good friend, if all goes well.

10. I will always do my very best to a be a good mom and wife.



Wish me well...