Mommyhood

The other day, I was in the library and instead of just checking out the handful of board books for storytime, I decided to allow myself a (tragically) rare privilege, and began to browse the adult fiction section for a relaxing mommy-book to read.  I have to admit that these days, despite my best efforts, I don't get through a lot of books.  Furthermore, I have several at my house that I haven't finished and I have been pretty disciplined about not getting more from the library to further slow my efforts to read those.  But I was in the mood for something else.  I was ready to allow myself to forget about all of the books that had come to my living room from a variety of 50 cent or 10 cent book sales for a few days.  (You would think that after accumulating so many books, I'd learn to curb my book-owning fetish or something...)

Our library is small and has little variety to offer, but there are several books there that I haven't heard of before and several more that I've always seen and often considered reading, but have never taken the chance.  I was browsing the titles arrayed before me, my daughter balanced on my hip, just far enough from the shelves that the books were beyond her reach.  Eventually, she turned away from the display shelves and nuzzled her face into my arm.  And then sunk her teeth into my shoulder.

I was somewhere between indignant and laughter and spent the rest of my short browsing time with my free hand protecting my shoulder from those little teeth and scolding unconvincingly through my own giggles.  In a lot of ways, motherhood has made me ridiculous.  Every time I watch a video I've taken of Addie doing something cute, I hear my own voice from behind the camera and think there's no way my voice is that high.  Or annoying.

And then there are those moments when life hands me a laugh while reminding me, at the same time, that I may not be quite as proficient at this mother-thing as I think I am.  At church a few weeks ago, on older lady turned to me and said, "You remind me of me when I had my first baby.  I was twenty-eight and I had no idea how to handle a baby."  I did not miss the implied 'just like you' and the end there.  I guess I'm something of an awkward mom.  I can't count the times that I've wished that I had a third hand to keep a diaper change contained or to manage holding a baby and getting my work done at the same time.

Let me share a final depiction of my motherly dignity:

After attacking a runny nose with a length of the dreaded toilet paper, I tried to explain to Addie why I was being so cruel.  "You see, there's just that booger sitting there, calling out to me, saying 'Mom!  Mom, come clean me up!  Don't leave me here sitting in Addie's nose.'"

From the kitchen, my husband, who I didn't think was listening, asked, "Boogers call you Mom?"  Yes.  Boogers call me mom.  At least they do if they are my baby's.

So today I'm taking a few minutes to be grateful for the chance to be my daughter's mom, even though it makes me look and sound ridiculous, cuts into my productivity, decreases the number of books I read and the number of days on which I actually do my hair.  At the end of the day, all of that is a small price to pay and I'm grateful that I get to pay it.

I know that not every woman is blessed to be a mother and not every mother is blessed to have a supportive father by her side to allow her to enjoy these little moments.  I am trying to remember these things, especially on the days when she won't let me get anything done because everything interesting happens to exist around the level of my waist or higher, or on the days when it's hard to sit down without seeing finding dirty dishes or unfolded laundry materialize in front of me.  All of this exists for my girl, for the sake of creating a safe and pleasant place for her to call home.  I am glad to be at the heart of it.