Motherhood and "This is It" Moments.

The great Chinese philosopy of yin and yang describes how opposing forces are, in effect, interconnected and give rise to each other. Complementary opposites constantly interacting yet part of a greater, beautiful whole.

I couldn't describe the last couple days any better. And yet, if I look back at every era in our life, it's always the same way.

Good and beautiful moments followed by trying and sad. Complex hurdles and challenges balanced perfectly with simple happy days. Intricate layers of learning and knowing, feeling and being, moving forward and being content to simply reside in the moment.

And i don't think I'd have it any other way. I love the simple, the good, the happy. But without the trying, the complex, the sad, the good just wouldn't seem as good and there would be no propeling forward...to the better us we will be every day.

Yes, we've had our good...enjoying a week with Grandma here, losing ourselves in yarn stores and coffee shops mid-afternoon, sunsets on the beach, lingering in our jammies, wagon walks and mastering the art of homemade cherry pie.



But then there are the trying...

We had our big half-way point ultrasound the other day and, even with all this funky stuff we've dealt with this time, I always look forward to ultrasounds. Even if they are to monitor that stupid blood clot. Because, right above that stupid blood clot is this little thing called our child. And getting to see her...to know her more...to take her in just gets me.

And yes, again, it's not the perfect ultrasound we'd hoped for. At least it didn't seem like that when I kept questioning the poor ultrasound tech every time she got quiet and moved the wand a little slower...and then I'd dig for all the what-could-that-mean-s and nearly fall apart after.
But, after a long thoughtful day yesterday, a chat with the doctor, a chat with the nurse, a call to ldr-friend-nurse, lots of huggy-kissy family e-mails, a follow-up call with nurse and her final words of--I think verbatim--'Stop worrying and go write a blog post or something,' I've come to this complete peace that, for the most part, everything is out of my hands and will be just fine. The baby is perfect. Brett says we don't knock on the cockpit when the plane's flying...so sit back and relax.
And so i will.
I've never ever been a worrier...ever. To the point of I didn't worry about things I should have worried about. But, I think my grandma's passed-on worry genes were just lying dormant all these years until babies entered my world. And now...all this love...well, the genes have erupted like Vesuvius.

And if that wasn't enough, after a somewhat emotional day yesterday, my girl woke up in the middle of the night with a fever. And clingy. And needy. And I did that give-her-tylenol thing again which made her throw up. And so we cleaned off stinky jammies and freshened up with new ones. And we rocked. And loved. And she was quiet and happy and soon fell asleep in my arms. And today, she just wasn't herself. Her eyes said 'sick,' and her bubbly personality was absent...replaced by this sweet, clingy babe who couldn't leave my side. She needed us a lot today...

So we read a lot of books, her legs all intertwined in mine and her hot little head nested as close to me as possible.



And, at one point when her drowsy eyes closed and her hand curled around my arm, I just couldn't hold it. I cried. Not because it was hard and trying. Maybe because I'm emotional and pregnant. But mostly? Mostly because I felt like a mama (and talk about yin and yang...here I am lying there in the quiet of the room and my big girl is falling asleep outside my tummy while my tiny girl is waking up inside. Hello. Profound.)

It dawned on me...all these times we look forward to before we're mothers. The moments we think we'll feel like a mom--like park dates or proudly 'showing off' that wrapped little bundle, birthday parties and art projects...yes, they all define motherhood. And while I feel every bit of mamahood during those happy days, it's the not-so-right times that truly pull out of me the primal mama within. Checking temperatures half-awake holding a warm head close. Sweeping back tendrils of wispy hair from a hot cheek and kissing sad, heavy eyelids. Feeling that painful pull on my heart when the ultrasound tech takes a second look at a questionable area. Kissing her tiny helpless body under blue lights in the hospital. Comforting her sickness. Being needed. Sacrificing anything and everything to make them both okay...these are the moments I feel my soul has been matched with its calling. Where I know I'm doing exactly what I'm supposed to be doing. For a doctor, it might be the day they are published in The New England Journal of Medicine. A struggling politician, perhaps the moment they celebrate their election to office. But for me...my 'this is it' moments...they are witnessed by none and felt in the dark...when we're rocking quietly together and our souls are synched. In the middle of the day when everyone's at work, but I am happily glued to the couch, intertwined with my feverish girl. When I don't have all the answers and I don't know what to do...but I sure know how to love. That's when I feel it most. This mom thing. I don't know why or how or when...but I know so deeply how to be a mom because my soul was carved to be one and these littles fit in the hollow of those carved grooves...right in the place of my being that says 'mama.'
The rest, we'll figure out.

I may or may not be a great many things...but today, I was so incredibly happy to be a mama.

This is how we do it.

Stay-at-home-mom.

Despite the sighs of pity some may offer at the mention of it, I embrace it for the gift it is and have absolutely no problem answering the what-exactly-do-you do question with just that: I stay at home with my baby. I feel no need to further explain I used to teach. Or I have hobbies. Or I do business out of my home. Or there are some days I think I work so hard I would surely take the I-did-more-than-you-today prize from any 9 to 5er. Because for me, it is the most beautiful job in the world, and based on my own memories of spending afternoons sitting on the worn shag blue carpet in our family room, making my way through the lollipop woods and molasses swamp in a rip-roaring game of Candyland with my mom or trailing behind her through a fabric store while she thumbed through Butterick patterns knowing a trip to the ice cream store--just her and i--was sure to follow...well, I can't say enough just how sweet those times were or how good it feels to be able to mimic as much of that goodness as I can.

And I don't take it for granted. I really don't. And I know so many mamas that would love to stay home but can't and I wish I could share the gift a little more. But I also know that there are all sorts of mamas...good mamas...and some need time away, love their work environments and have these flawless set-ups where their babies are loved and nurtured during the day and they come home and balance it all the same. Because they choose to work. And they're just as good.

And I guess the point I'm trying to get to is that yes...this staying home thing is just purely beautiful...but it's not always perfect. I would love nothing more but to bake and craft and read Goodnight Moon a trillion times to her while we spooned under cold sheets and planned our breakfast menu. But it's hardly like that.
I do work. I work at home...a lot. And while I think it is the coolest thing in the history of mankind that I get to both work and be with her, it presents its difficulties. I can't always read. I can't always craft. And there are many a times when i'm on a call, typing at the computer, answering e-mails, scraping burned scrambled eggs off a hot pan while holding her all at once.



But you know what? We rock it out. We really do. She's this super-cool toddler who finds things to do and with a little set-up can easily entertain herself with a pile of crayons, a cup of water, a drawer full of clothes to try on...while my presence is near. There are days where we bake, and days where we eat chicken nuggets. Days where three loads of laundry miraculously make their way through the entire line of command (traditionally stopping, of course, at that wrinkled standstill between Dryertown and Foldedland), and days where the dirty pile grows ominously on the bathroom floor.

Hold it. Perhaps I should mention the shakedown. Oh, the shakedown, a term invented by sister which, by definition, is the 45 minute blitz you frantically set out on right before your husband comes home which magically transforms your home into looking like you've been June-Cleaver-in' the place all day. Can't tell you how many times I've been gabbing with my sister at six o'clock only to wildly cut the call short with a "--Crap, I have to go...Shakedown time!" which is always met with empathy and a 'you'll-get-it-done' on her part. And I always do. In fact, if I don't say so myself, I've been known to turn a pit-gone-mad into Martha Stewart's living room, spit-shine the kitchen, throw something into the crockpot, turn the dryer on, light some candles, crank some Diana Krall, dispose of my pajamas, and smear some lipstick on in thirty-seven minutes flat. And he'll be all like wow when he comes home. And I'll be all like, if-only-you-knew.

But, all that aside...
Sometimes there are days like these.

Days when magically...we do it all. Like there were 72 hours in this one little day.
I mothered. The good-kind of mothered.
Instead of looking like one of the boxcar children, all oatmeal-covered and half-naked, we were cutely dressed and tightly pony-tailed by 7:30...right when the morning light streamed its welcome into her room for some early reading.

We crafted...and not just crayons and cheap coloring books. No, we're talkin' gluesticks and sequins.



We escaped to the park where the mid-morning breeze swished her pony-tails while she gasped and grinned on high-flying swings.

We picked up tuna subs and ate them on the ground, right there on dirt and grass with nothin' but nature...and headed home where she napped and I painted her nursery rocker a rich fallish shade of bordeaux to make its debut in our living room where new baby girl will be rocked and nursed and snuggled come January.

And afternoon had us winding through aisles at the grocery where she kindly helped me pick out bananas and tote bratwurst and peppers in her basket.



So there. Not to pat myself on the back--but oh, who am I kidding--totally patting myself on the back. Because, for all the times it doesn't work out. For all the times I've gone to bed thinking I could have done more. For all the piles of laundry that don't get washed or the Goodnight Moons that don't get read...there are days like these. When everything goes just right.

And that, my friends...is how we do it.