Appreciating Mama
My in-laws just had a stray cat claim the bushes beside their house as home for her and her six kittens. They were appalled by how thin and sickly the mom cat looked and of course have been feeding her and keeping an eye on the little family. Hearing about the mom’s condition had me worried about the babies. My in-laws sent us a photo of the kittens, but lo and behold all six looked perfectly full and fluffy. Isn’t that the nature of motherhood? You’ve brought this living, breathing, helpless child (or 6) into the world. You’re so focused on making sure that baby gets plump and healthy and feels loved that you become a bit of a shadow of yourself. Those early days are tough. Everyone told me how beautiful and special they were. They didn’t tell me how much of them I wouldn’t remember due to lack of sleep, loss of self identity, and the ever present pressure of not failing at this incredibly important new role.
Slowly but surely, I found my footing as a mom and began to feel like a version of myself again. I am still practicing introspection, still growing, still learning, still adjusting, and of course always evolving, but getting to that place of being myself and also a mom has been so fulfilling. When people tell me to appreciate these moments and days, I think about how much I have absolutely relished my front row seat to Luna’s discoveries, to her blossoming vocabulary, to her awe, to her willingness and lately even eagerness to accomplish things on her own. Witnessing her become ever more independent is probably my favorite part of motherhood. Don’t get me wrong, I will ALWAYS cherish a cuddle or a kiss, but I feel this way about her growing self-reliance, because deep down I know she will likely always need or at least rely on me to some extent.
Luna may not need me to rock her to sleep or wake for night time feedings anymore, but last night, I heard her wail in the middle of the night “maaaaamaaaa.” For about 15 seconds she called out my name a few times and whined until she migrated herself back to her pallet of blankets (she is currently relegating herself to the floor as opposed to her toddler bed) and enormous pillow, where she settled in with her well-loved bunny and fell back to sleep. While it was short lived, that awakening to hear my name being called out was alarming. It always is. It is also always a reminder of what I mean to someone. Since day one, she has learned that I am her safe place. I am her support. To be that refuge for someone is equally fulfilling and daunting. I know how important that role is, because I have benefited from having that invaluable person in my life as well.
I think only now that I myself am a mom can I appreciate the magnitude of the loss I have experienced due to my mom’s dementia. That refuge has been diminished. I am frequently reminded of the importance of a mother’s role and how it is felt across genders, races, ages, and life circumstances. It is felt in Lizzo’s song “Coconut Oil” when she says “Momma always told me it would be alright,” and “Momma always told me that, and she was right.” It is felt in otherwise tough guy Dave Grohl’s memoir, The Storyteller when he talks about calling the one person on whose advice he could always count, even when he was on the road after abandoning high school in the small town where she was a beloved teacher. It was felt when George Floyd called out for his mother as he was being choked to death, even though she had already passed away before him.
Lizzo points out that as mothers, we are the ones who feel a responsibility to either make things right or to allow our children to make their mistakes, learn their lessons, and come out on the other side with us still rooting for them and saying, “see, ultimately, everything is alright.” Dave reminds me that the person whose wisdom guided me through childhood, adolescence, and my college career, even when our viewpoints differed, is no longer capable of offering the same insights as she once was. The desire to pick up the phone and call her has not gone away. However, there is now a recognition that our conversations cannot be as nuanced as they once were. She will always be cheering for me. She will always encourage me. She will always believe in me. Her favorite mottos that she repeats to me on almost every phone call now are “Don’t sweat the small stuff” and “Let go and let God.” Perhaps, as I’m wishing for her to offer some wildly personalized and refined advice she is already providing the messages I really need. Somehow, even in her current state, that is the power of being a mom. I could very well benefit from not sweating the small stuff, not worrying over the what ifs and creating situations in my mind prior to them ever coming to fruition. I could lean on God much more fully than I have been in the past several years and could stand to “let go” of the things which I know I cannot control. I could most certainly rely more on her while she is still here in whatever capacity that may be. I could take advantage of the ability to call my mama and not just call out for her once she is gone and I’m struggling to catch my breath.
