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.