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| Image credit: Photo by F.S.M. on Flickr Licensed under Creative Commons |
I've calculated the precise moment at which mothering instincts kick in, and that moment is 3:30 a.m.
Actually, I'm extrapolating a little. I'm not sure that it was actually 3:30 a.m. the very first time my own mothering instincts kicked in. I'm not sure what time it really was, because I was (understatement coming) a little out of it in the wake of my son's birth. But it felt as dark and hushed and lonely, as scary and large as 3:30 a.m. when I handed that tiny newborn over to a nurse for a routine blood test. I can still see how tiny his foot was as she drew it out of the swaddling blanket to prick it, and I can still hear how he wailed as if he were experiencing unimaginable torture as those tiny red drops beaded on his heel. I wanted to grab him away from the nurse and scratch her eyes out and never let anyone touch him again. And when it was all over, I apologized to him for letting someone hurt him -- even though I knew that particular blood draw was in the best interest of his health and safety -- and I cried and cried as I held him. It was then that I really knew, really felt in every part of me, that I was his mama.
My daughter Janie had her little five-year-old friend Valerie from kindergarten sleep over recently. After lots of giggling and playing and holding hands and snuggling, after they finally fell asleep, I dimmed their bedroom lights, closed the door and climbed into bed myself. I used to be a heavy sleeper -- my college roommate had to shake me once to get me to hear the fire alarm that was going off in our building -- but now I have super powered Mama ears, carefully attuned to the whispering sound of little feet on the hall carpet.
At 3:30 a.m. I heard those whispering feet, knew them as Valerie's and ran to get her. She saw me and burst into tears, "I want my mommy!" I scooped her up and she clung to my neck whimpering, "Where's my mommy? I want my mommy." I walked into the bedroom and sat down on the bed, with Valerie's head tucked under my chin, and rubbed her back.
"I'll tell you what," I whispered, "It's the middle of the night right now, but your mommy is supposed to come join us for breakfast in just a few more hours when it gets light out. Why don't you stay here and rest with me for a little while and see if you can sleep a little more. But if you don't feel better in a few minutes, we'll call your mommy. Ok?" Valerie nodded and nestled closer.
As I held her, there in the night, I had that same feeling I had when the nurse handed me back my newborn son: that I was her (temporary) mama and it was my job to lunge at all things hurtful and scary and scratch their eyes. I thought about how much her own mama loved her and wanted her safe. And I knew that, there in the night with the shadows crowding close, I was the nightlight keeping watch over her, the eyes her mother left behind to guard her.
In a few minutes, Valerie's breathing was soft and slow, as she drifted off to sleep again with her head on my chest. I inched her slowly down onto the bed; then I climbed in next to her, pulled the covers over us both and put an arm over her to protect her from needles and ax murderers and big, scary monsters and rats and bears and child molesters and dark shadows. And I stayed there until Janie jumped on us, and they both ran from the room giggling in the morning light.
When my boys were still babies I stayed home and took on one other boy the same age as my oldest every day for a little extra cash - I feel in love with him in much the same way I did my boys, we played i the mud, walked to the park spent lazy days outside and when he did somethin that the parent should see first, I pretended hat he did not do a thing, in order to allow his moma that joy and pleasure and feeling of connectedness. To this day I eel such a strong connection with all mothers simply because we are.
I remember those monsters under the bed. I would run and jump onto the bed from the doorway so that the hand wouldn't grab my foot. I didn't sleep with my parents but had to tough it out. I'm glad that you are there for your children and comfort them.
Oh, I totally get this post, Mama. I call it my: Mom to One, Mom to All philosophy: When I became a mother to one child, I became a mother to all children.
When I see a toddler running around an airport or grocery store without a parent in a ten foot radius, I stop the little one and chat for a moment until the parent inevitably comes careening around the corner. Then I explain that I, too, have a very fast toddler and compliment the wee one's cuteness so the Parent doesn't think I'm judgmental. Two weeks ago, we were playing at a new park in our neighborhood and an 8 yr old boy fell and hurt his knees and started screaming. None of the parents around responded, so me, with my broken back, went over and scooped him up and held him, checking his knee to make sure it was ok. He was a bit of a wailer & over-reacting, but I didn't care. (Luigi is a wailer, too.) He needed a mom until his own came over a minute later and I was glad to fill in.
I generally find that kids are really glad for the fill-in, but that parents can sometimes feel taken aback as if they were caught neglecting their duty. I never think they are neglecting their duty, I just think that it's hard to have one's attention everywhere at the same time. Myself included.
And, Cat, you are an angel for letting the parents of that little boy experience the "firsts" for themselves. You're a great mom.
This is such a great post MPJ. Thanks so much for sharing.
You are a good temporary mama.
I remember when I freaked at a friend's house as a little girl, her tired mama just shuffled off and called my tired mama, who came to rescue me from my friend's house at 4 a.m. It's funny how those people were transformed into horrid monsters. They'd been wonderful people earlier in the day, letting me play in their pool and eat their food.
What a different reaction I had. When my son was getting his heel prick test, I just watched the nurse work and said something like, "Wow you're an angry little man!" I felt absolutely no sadness, anger, terror, or what-have-you. I hope that doesn't make me a bad mommy...
First time I felt that protective urge is when my husband was going to take the baby out for coffee and I was going to stay at home. I started to cry because I didn't want the baby leaving me.
Having said that, I still don't feel like a mother, I feel like I'm playing house and somebody is going to come and take the baby soon.
All the children are lucky you're on mama-duty. I knew moms like you when I was a girl: moms who treated me as one of their own when I was at their house, and would protect me and love me and comfort me just as they would their own child. It's a nice thing, when young and scared, and to be protected and loved simply because you're someone's child and you deserve it.
Makes me want to call you at 3:30 in the morning, when I wake up scared and lonely and just need a hug. And maybe some cocoa.
Good mommy!
Mama to one, mama to all, that's what a mama is. Bravo.
I hope it will be just like this when my siblings and I start having children - a community of mamas.
What a wonderful temp mum you are! How lucky Valerie is to be friends with your daughter and to be able to receive the extra nuturing you gave her.
Love this post. I could see this in a magazine, honestly.
Its funny. When you wrote 3:30 am, before reading on I immediately thought of last night at 3:30 am, when my 5 month old son woke up. My mommy ears amaze me. The other thing that amazes me is how alert and ready to go I am at 3:30 am. There are 7 years between my kids, so this took awhile to return to me, but 5 months in its in full force.
Wonderful post! You hit it exactly right. I so know this feeling. Primal. Thanks for sharing!
This is beautiful!
Beautiful!
This brought instant tears to my eyes. Granted, I cry at the AT&T commercials they show at Christmas time, but I still know an astoundingly loving soul when I read about her.