On Mother's Day, I reflected on what six months of motherhood has meant for me. All of the beautiful things that come along with being a mama are here - the warmth of holding a baby, the heart's expansion while watching my son sleep, the joy of seeing him smile. We all know these things are nice, they're the best things in our lives, and all that good stuff. I could write a recyling bin full of florid, rhyming greeting cards about these things, and, since I'm betting you're on the giving or receiving end of some of those cards, I'm not going to go in to all that loveliness. I love being a mother, and I love my son. It's the collateral damage of motherhood I don't like.
Something seems to have happened to my ability to recall the correct word. I handed Axel a purple stuffed toy yesterday and said, "Look, baby, it's your hippo! Isn't that a fun hippo?" The toy isn't even a mammal. It's a crustacean. It's a little stuffed crab. This happens all the time - when I'm talking to Axel, in meetings at work when I've asked questions the answers of which are written in paragrap three of the written materials in front of me and aren't the question that I really meant to ask, while on the phone with friends when I stutter or say "See you soon" to people who live halfway across the country who I won't see anytime soon. I pull up the wrong word and don't even realize how wrong it is until someone gives me a look that says, "Ummm, are you okay?" Yes, I'm okay. I'm just a mother. I'm teaching someone all about language, and I can't talk myself. Axel's going to go in to kindergarten calling elephants donkeys and cats giraffes.
Mixed in with my new weaknesses when it comes to the spoken English language is an inability to focus. Halfway through a conversation with my husband, I realize I have no idea what he's talking about - and I've been responding in a coherent manner for ten minutes. Top Chef will be on and I'll be alone, sitting on the couch, and I couldn't tell you why they're hacking at a fish that looks like it's a mutated creature from a nuclear waste-infested lake. All this while Axel's not even awake. When he is and I'm with him, it's even worse. It's not that my mind can no longer shift gears between things. It's that my mind is trying to run in five different gears at once and failing at all of them. There's no quiet space left inside my head. Every inch is full of reminders to call the preschool down the street about waiting lists, set up a meeting at work, finally get the dog in to the groomer, hook myself up to the breast pump in twenty minutes, pay the phone bill, send an overdue reply to a friend's email.
And, of course, there are the permanent spit-up stains on my clothes, mashed yam in not just my son's hair but my own, the body that's a mushy version of itself pre-baby, the dried boogers that are on my sleeve and perched on the tip of Axel's nose like those of a rare, especially snotty unicorn. Oh, motherhood. It changes you. It shakes up your life and stains your wardrobe. It makes you confuse hulking land animals and small, clawed sea creatures. And it gives you the chance to get to to know your baby, and fall more deeply in love with him each day.
Happy Mother's Day to you and yours!
