Angie Kinghorn

Reflections on motherhood

Today is Mother’s Day, and as I’ve enjoyed my day off, I’ve been ruminating over how three and a half years of motherhood has changed me.
There’s the obvious: my body is now the shape of a mother.  I bear scars and stretch marks, and yes, at first, I resented them bitterly.  As bathing suit season approaches, part of me still resents them bitterly.  I see new moms looking like Kate Moss and my subconscious wonders what deal with the devil they struck.  But outside of dressing rooms with their evil lighting and three-way mirrors, in a world where more women look like me than like Gisele, I mostly see these changes as God’s tattoos, branding “mommy” on my skin as clearly as if he’d spelled out the word.  I have soft places that will likely never be buff and toned, but when my children lay their heads in my lap and sigh with pleasure, it pleases me that Mommy is a comfort and a soft place to land.
Motherhood has made me stronger in ways I never fathomed.  Law school didn’t teach me how long I could go without sleep, but two infants sure as hell did.  Several shoulder reconstructions didn’t teach me how much physical pain I could endure, but my pregnancy and complicated c-section definitely did.  For these babies, I’m stronger than I thought, and far stronger than if it were just for me.  In a true miracle, I have acquired some small amount of patience.  Three months of bed rest will do that for you.  As will three years of twins, approximately 542 ear infections, 689 middle-of-the-night fevers, and 301 cases of croup.  Not to mention countless trips to the pediatrician, one memorable visit to the pediatric dentist, one year of speech therapy, and two visits to the pediatric ER.
Yet while motherhood has made me stronger, it has also made me vulnerable in a way only other mothers can understand.  When the doctor plucked my little babies from my womb, pieces of my heart splintered off and went with them.  Gone from the confines of my chest to the brutal environment outside, my heart was no longer safe and sheltered.  My children are pieces of me, and when they hurt, their pain stabs at me, too.  Then there’s the constant worry, knowing they are out in the world and subject to hurt, loss, and pain, and that they will eventually meet all these things.  This is the world in which we live, and nothing can protect them from it, especially if they are to go out and enjoy all it has to offer.  It’s a bittersweet pain, a constant anxiety that feels as much a permanent part of me as they are.
This Type A girl has yet to become Type B, but I have learned to let go of some things.  My house will never look like a museum, but that’s ok.  It looks like a home.  There will always be laundry waiting, and my children will never allow themselves to be dressed and coiffed to smocked perfection.  They prefer Target play clothes to boutique clothing, and that’s ok.  They’re happy, and I don’t have to iron.
Motherhood has deepened my connection to God, at least, when I don’t fall asleep in the middle of my prayers.  It has made me conscious of the things I do, because those little eyes and ears don’t miss anything, and they imitate everything.  So I find myself trying to be the best person I can be so that my children will follow suit.  Some days the best person I can be is a mommy in her pajamas who parks her kids in front of Nick Jr. and begs them to be quiet because mommy has a migraine.  They don’t know what a migraine is, and I pray they never do.  But it’s the best I can do, and I’ve learned that the best you can do is absolutely enough.
However, there remains a lot for me to learn.
For instance, my son is potty trained, yet I still find myself mopping up puddles on the bathroom floor on a regular basis.  This, I do not understand.  The penis simply does not look that complicated.  Point and shoot. Look down at what you’re doing.  Voila!  (Or so one would think.)  I’ve learned never to talk to him while he’s going, because he’ll turn around, mid-pee, and soak the bathroom.
And what am I supposed to do about my children’s honesty?  Last week I asked my son, “Did you hit your sister?” and he looked at me and said, looking slightly offended, “No.  I not hit her.”  Pause.  “I push her.”
Two cheers for honesty, but really, should I have punished him for telling the truth?  I think I said (while trying not to bray like a donkey) something along the lines of, “Thank you for telling me the truth, but we do not hit.  Do not hit your sister again.”
Since she’s been sporting a mysterious black eye this week, I’m not convinced he got the message.
Happy Mother’s Day to all the wonderful women out there who make it their work to raise children.  May your children grow up with all the best parts of you.

Comments

  3. Very well said! Hope you had a fab mama's day and thanks so much for visiting Theta Mom!

    Following you as well and look forward to blogging with you!

  4. You described it all so accurately!!! Oh and the honesty…my kids are the same way. “I didn't hit him, I just shoved him down the stairs”. As if that was okay instead of hitting, right?? UGH….this is why God made our kids as adorable as He did, so we'd still be able to smile and think what little angels they are!

  5. I cracked up at the penis talk. With three little boys, it just never stops around here. They dance around while they are peeing, I think.

    Grabbing your button. :)

    Thanks for stopping by my SITS day yesterday!

  6. Thanks, everybody!

    Shell, stay tuned, as there may be more penis talk on the way. Today my son peed all over the bathroom wall of a restaurant. I just don't get it. How freakin' hard can it be to aim?

    Helene, I'm glad my kids aren't the only ones doing the weird honesty thing. How do you respond when they say stuff like that?

  7. This was an awesome post! I loved the law school comment. I can remember pulling all nighters to get papers done in college and thinking that staying up all night wasn't so bad. But that's probably because I could go straight back to bed at 7am and sleep all damn day!!!

  8. So well put, and so true. How funny is the pee “hose” as I like to call it when you actually make the mistake of talking to them while they pee. I have 3 boys and a husband, I am forever wiping up drops, or pools, from some toilet and floor somewhere.

    Just stopping in to say thanks for coming by on my SITS day and making it so memorable. Your time and words mean the world to me.

    Lots of yummy love,
    Alex aka Ma What's For Dinner
    http://www.mawhats4dinner.com

  9. First of all, I must give you a standing ovation. This is brilliant and as I was reading it felt like I could have written it from experience. I learned a lot with my singletons, but it took my twins pregnancy and birth to teach me really DEEP lessons. I spent 10 weeks in the hospital and had a csection that took forever to recover from as well. And, those sleepless nights…….I could go on and on, but instead, I'll just end with a huge thank you and happy mothers day!