Snapshots of Motherhood

 

I am bathed in the light of her wisdom; her capacity to love and nurture.  I watch as her tired, pale face maintains its softness, even through many nights of sleeplessness and industrious fervor.  Her voice is soft and melodic; cooing whispers intended to sooth and comfort the restless, unrelenting curiosity of new life as he wriggles his way into being.

 

            It wasn’t so long ago that she burst into my life, fists clenched, scarlet face, demanding a place in the world.  This little sprite of curiosity and determination making her way through the peaks and troughs of her emergent persona as I watched with wonder as she blossomed into this amazing young woman.

 

            She was small for her age then --  yet so determined.  Dimpled cheeks and round, blue eyes would confront the world, scolding anything that would interfere with her insatiable need to drink in the nectar of new experience.  She grew, and my life became a metamorphosis of mirth and wonder analogous to her development.   I remember being mesmerized by her ability to tell stories, wide-eyed and full of enthusiasm, stumbling between baby talk and little girl vernacular, and how her sweet, soft voice would sing away skinned knees and broken hearts. 

 

            As she transitioned through childhood, so my life transitioned to the objectivity of release and letting go.  The world began calling her, beckoning her with the temptation of experience and erudition, and my influence began to fade like a lifting fog, giving way to the light of an unfamiliar source.  The metamorphosis was now hers, and my influence was diminishing, more rapidly than one could ever fathom.  She was growing up.

 

            Motherhood is a constant transformation; an evolution of realism contrasting our ideals.  We encourage strength, but crave dependency.   We foster growth, but grieve change.  We preach self-reliance, yet secretly want to coddle and protect.  The dichotomy of parenthood has no delineation at either end.  We love, we hurt, we hold on, but ultimately, we let go. 

 

            Motherhood was my Kodak moment; a snapshot within a continuum of a bigger story of life and lessons learned.   A Kodachrome enigma intended to illustrate a potentially lackluster passage through this expedition of maternal experience, providing humility and revelation along this vibrantly colorful route.  We progress from “Mommy” to “Mom” to “Mother”, through rites of passage which are both revealing and a mystery.   And, while not a requirement in life, when taking on the role, one eventually realizes that it can be the most single, life altering enterprise known to human kind.  They grow up and we grow old.  A sweet sadness with no real definition.  Something that just happens.  And then they are gone…. and you are alone.  And that is that.  Or is it?

            “Mom, we’re expecting”, this confident adult woman informs me through my cell phone.  “I didn’t want to say anything too soon, but we are so excited…. Mom?”

             Motherhood is not a linear.  It is an ever changing, entanglement of intertwining experiences which lead us back, full circle to that one place from where it was born…. the heart.  Motherhood is love in action.  It is the gift of learning about what we are really made of; who we are. 

             Watching my daughter’s life is witnessing art in the truest sense.  A painting… a portrait.  The pure, white canvas has been turned into an array of texture and color, interwoven to create a story left only to be interpreted by the imagination.  The beauty of her art is unexplainable; especially when one has witnessed its creation from the first stroke.  And now that she is a mother, miraculously, her colors are transforming.  They are becoming softer and more comfortable.  The strokes are less intense, and exhibit a perfection which only comes with the concept of balance and harmony.  A masterpiece, indeed.

             And my portrait?  There is still plenty of work to be done.  The finishing touches have to wait a little longer.  There is new life now; a new beginning; time to resume progress from a new perspective. 

             I sit quietly, sip my coffee, and contemplate the wonder of it all as I lay my head back against my daughter’s easy chair.  The house is quiet, except for the mesmerizing ticking of a tinny, out of synch clock and the occasional snort as her dog thumps and twitches his way through a mysterious dream of some unknown dog adventure.  The day is overcast and the air is cool outside, but it is warm in the house and in my heart. 

            I can hear the rhythmic creak of her chair in the nursery, rocking….  rocking….  rocking… back and forth as his little gurgles and grunts slowly subside into a deep sigh.  There is that squeaky, sucking sound as he fervently sucks on his pacifier, and the baby Mozart is quietly playing in the background.  He is asleep.       

 

Theresa Checkosky Maher, (2011) Motherly Musings: Thirty Women and Men Reflect on the Roller Coaster Ride That is Motherhood. S. Wells, Ed. Unlimited Publishing, LLC.

 

             

           

     My life has flavor.  Some question my choices...my willingness to so easily change course as the wind blows in new directions.  And, I must admit that there were times in my life when I listened and questioned myself as well.  I look around and see people who set out on their paths many years ago.  They grew within their chosen direction, became masters, and stayed there until it faded into a soft, easy retreat into a wonderful retirement.  I envy those people.  Covet their deep set roots, and wonder how life would have been had I also dug my heels in and stuck to the script.  But I didn't.  I couldn't.  Granted, there were often times where I had few other options, but also, there were just too many hats I wanted (and sometimes needed) to try on;  roles I had to experience.

     Transition has always come easy for me.  When one grows up with transient parents, being in new situations is not an unusual concept.  I'll admit, it was sometimes painful and lonely, but it also taught me that its okay to take risks because even the most uncomfortable setting or toxic individuals will eventually become but a memory. I've learned that, if it doesn't serve me, I don't have to let it poison my spirit.  I can let it go.  

     Some of the roles were fun and interesting -- others mundane.  But, they were the building blocks to where I'm at today.  I've been the daughter, of course.  A friend, mother, wife, divorcee, mistress.  I've performed on stages and in castles; wore the clown face; sang the songs;  ran the races; put the quarters on the rail road track, danced barefoot on the grass and published the literature. I've also suffered the grief, felt the uncertainty; loneliness; anxiety...the depression.  But I always came back.  I've been the secretary, waitress, actress, marketer, boss, teacher, counselor, nurse...oh, and don't forget the best one..."Grandma".  

     I've partied with the famous and comforted the dying as they expelled their last breaths.  Once I slept in a tee pee after a night of drumming and making dream pillows; I've danced around the fire and rafted over the white water.  People ask me where I am from.  I never quite know how to answer that, for I started in the south, but have progressed throughout the west, east and north; grew up in the city, ghetto, country, lake house, tiny apartments and mini mansion. Explored most religions and cultures, and have had the gift of free-spirited, diverse and creative friends and family from varying ethnicities and gender identities, the athletic and special needs....heros.  And then, of course, there are the four legged souls who have rescued me many times in so many ways...

     I think I've made my point.  The funny thing is that I still feel as though I'm not there yet.  There is more to come.  Things I need to experience, contribute...try just once....   

     So, as I presently (at 50 something) pursue my fifth college degree; transition into yet another phase of my career; write another novel; make my husband, two dogs and three cats painfully listen as I practice my violin; stumble through Rosetta Stone trying to learn Spanish, and, spend many unpaid hours doing volunteer work while wondering from where the funding will appear so I can travel Europe...the epiphany has finally arrived:  while some people choose to stick with the safety and comfort of vanilla, I hope they will understand my ever changing tutti frutti rocky road butterscotch with marshmallow topping choice of varied experiences.  Will they?  Maybe some.  Others not so much.  But that's okay. As long as my choices don't hurt the significant people in my life, the thoughts of others really are insignificant, as they have absolutely no impact on who I am or where I'm going.  Instability?  I don't think so.  Just an immense appetite for making my life everything I want it to be before its over.  They'll do it their way, and I'll do it mine.  Either way, we are all going to end up looking back over our lives someday.  I sit by many death beds through hospice work and I can tell you that, if anyone were to ask me what I want my last three words to be when its my turn, I would say without hesitation....  "It--- was--- good!"