A wonderful mother

I have a friend.  She is a momma of 2 wonderful girls (who are sometimes not wonderful:).  And I am pregnant.  In about 5 months, I am going to be a momma too.  You would think that, in talking to my friend, I feel relief, peace, joy.  When I tell her my fears, you would think, since she has been there, and is there now, that she would have words of wisdom to ease (not erase) those fears.  She does.  She has those words, somewhere, but those aren't the words she gives me.

When I re-live my childhood, remembering that we learn parenting from our parents...When I reflect on my own impatient, selfish nature, knowing that those aren't the best traits when you have someone small depending on you...She gives me words.  But those words don't comfort me.  They don't relieve me.

I think they would, if the words she gave acknowledged my faults and my foibles.  I think they would if they allowed me to be ME in the midst of being MOM.  But they don't.

Her words tell me that I will be a wonderful mother.  They tell me I will be patient and kind.  They tell me that I will set healthy boundaries without pushing my children too far.  They tell me that once I hold that child in my arms, my inherent selfishness will be washed away for love of that child.  They tell me a lot of wonderful things.  Hopeful things.

But they don't ease me.  They are not what I need.

I need someone to tell me that I am going to mess up, but that it is ok.
I need someone to tell me that I WILL lose my patience and yell, but that my child will forgive me if I do.
I need someone to tell me that I will CONSTANTLY war within myself (and with my husband) about where REASONABLE boundaries are.
I need someone to tell me that I will have moments of selfishness, but also moments of reckless abandon.
And through it all
through all of my failures
and my successes
my mistakes
and good decisions
I will be
a wonderful mother.

Something I wrote last week:

Experiencing Creation

I call him Monster.

My Monster.

He may not be a he.

He may be a she, but I won’t know for a few more weeks.

Monster,

the weird alien growing inside me

Just a few months ago there was nothing;

now there is something

Someone….

            Someone IN there

Someone with tiny nails on tiny fingers

            on tiny hands

Someone whose three inch body looks more and more

like a SOMEONE each day

and less like a monster

Someone is there

            That Someone…

Sometimes I feel sick-ish

as if the monster is unhappy

but sometimes that monster is appeased

when I sing

And sometimes, when I ache, or feel gross

I call

“Monster, stop that!”

and my little three inch monster

never listens.

            Stubborn, like dad…

I call him Monster,

and I joke

            and there are even moments I forget

there is SOMEONE in there.

 Yesterday…

            Yesterday…

                        Yesterday the doctor

put a cold metal wand on my greased belly

and said “Listen.”

            And I listened

                        And Somewhere underneath

my beating heart

            Someone’s heart pounded

like a racehorse

            Fierce

                        ALIVE

Somewhere beneath my beating heart

Someone’s heart answered

            And I listened.

A letter to my Monster

Dear Monster,
I listened to you today.  I heard your tiny heart beating fast and steady like you were running a race.  I listened.  You were amazing.  Just you.  All you had to do was BE, and I loved you.  I had already loved you, but darling, that love is surprising, because it just keeps getting bigger, and my heart feels like it will burst from the pressure, but it never does.  I am so proud of you and your little heart.  My little Monster.  Our little Monster.  Even though you may never read these words, they are out there, broken into tiny ones and zeros and floating through tubes and channels the likes of which I will never understand.  Just BE, my darling, I will listen.

Love
Your Momma