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| Top Stories in Modern Mom |
| Changed For Good | | Date Created: Feb 21, 2005, 12:05 AM |
 Date Originally Posted: Oct 13, 2004, 11:33 PM
(Written October 2, 2004)
Tonight, on a relaxed drive home from the first weekend without our seventeen-month-old son, I spoke my thoughts aloud as I pined for him: "What would I do without Logan in my life?"
My husband asked, "You mean like if he died?" No, I didn't mean that...I meant who would I be if my son were not a part of me--who am I without him? I am my husband's wife, I am a TV producer, I am my parents' daughter, my sister's sister, a woman and a friend--but now, one of the most prominent roles of my identity is Mother to my first & only child. Forty-eight hours of separation had sent me into a confusing identity crisis.
I asked my grandpa over the phone, "Do you think he missed me?" He chuckled, enjoying the moment as if recalling a time in his own past. "No," he insisted, "He was having too much fun." I actually found peace in that statement, although I expected it to hurt. I didn't really want Logan to miss me in just two short days--I know the value of these times apart and wanted him to confidently build precious memories on his own. And yet, I did hope on some minor level he might notice my absence...
Mom shared some of our toddler's day with me and I jealously imagined him squatting down to find more interest in a leaf on the ground than the tall giraffes, rhinos and elephants meandering around him. "If it doesn't have wheels, Logan doesn't seem interested," Mom reported; the grin on her face was evident, even over the phone.
Who is this woman in the mirror, now that a little boy has captured her heart?
When his heavy naked body was placed against my bare skin as he took his first breaths, everything in my life changed forever. I matured in an instant. I took on new qualities of precaution and intention in my life. I turned to the Lord more from moment to moment, overwhelmed by the task set before me to raise up this young one to become a man worthy of his calling. How could I, so feeble and frail, bring up a strong and capable man? This pink wiggling infant would tower over my height some day. He would bring a woman home who brought him the kind of joy his father has brought me. If we did our job right, he would be dipped into the waters of baptism...and between his college graduation day and this frozen moment of his birth I would need all the help and guidance I could glean from the Maker and Master of his every perfectly placed toe, hair and vein.
How am I changed, my husband wants to know. But I ask, "How am I the same?" I feel like I have undergone a full transformation. I am prioritizing my possessions, my time, my finances, and my friendships in ways I never have before. I am considering my age, my position, and my ambitions, wondering what is really eternally valuable. What must I shed, cast off, or peel away, in order to best serve my Father as a mother to this little one entrusted to me? What should I learn, absorb, observe? Whom should I spend my time with? Everything is more serious...and yet I have never had more fun. I have never laughed as hard since I was his own age. I have looked at my partner anew, since he is the reason for this little man?s presence in my life. "Thank you," I think over & over again. Thank you, God. Thank you, Tom. Thank you, Mom! I am grateful for every moment. I don't take them for granted. I hold on tightly to whatever we have, anticipating that a day will come when we have no more moments to share; but I also expect that we will spend a long life together, and hope for mysterious wonderful things to transpire in our future.
He isn't my friend or lover. He is a small, innocent child who looks to me for guidance and authority. Really, what in my life will ever be the same again?
I look at my figure differently, knowing that I have changed physically because of pregnancy, childbirth and nursing. Those changes are chemical. So are the alterations to my brain. New memories of bare feet on wet grass replace recent memories of career goals, boardroom meetings and paychecks. New dreams override my hopes of days before I became a parent. I see things I haven't seen in thirty years--grasshoppers, dew, fibers in the carpet. I am more aware, and therefore, feel closer to my creator, God.
And I also find myself questioning the lessons I've learned from the women of the world. I look at my boy with total abandon--how can I expect to put him on hold to live a self-serving life? He will keep growing; nothing will slow him down. I don't want to miss a moment because everyone reports to me how quickly they all blur into the past. I plan to witness and commit to memory as many of his actions and sounds as possible.
The way he effervesces with joy at a passing cement mixer, firetruck or semi sends me to heaven. The temper tantrum he has when his grunts for a snack aren't registering in my brain fast enough remind me of my own impatience with life. The clichés of my culture, the analogies of wise men, the parables of Christ--so many things are coming into focus for me.
Who am I without my son? It's too hard to separate us now. We are now a family of three, and the weekend I've had alone with my husband has been a sweet, welcome break from daily routines, but I will run to my young man's arms tomorrow and kiss him ear to ear. Oh, joy & mystery--I am delighted to be so transformed in my new role as Mom. May I never return to the person I once was. Thanks be to God. |
| Suit Yourself... | | Date Created: Jun 28, 2004, 03:27 AM |
 I stare at the right hand of my closet where my suits hang, still pressed and ready to wear, although dust might be collecting after a year of neglect. Will I ever need these again? And if so, will they still be in style? Who else might need them more than I? Do I dare depart with outfits, so carefully chosen in my favorite colors and fit, and close the door on my professional pursuits? I glace down at my rough urban cargo pants and tank top. Memories of important boardroom meetings with CEO's and Presidents return to me. I recall my private office with a window where I often watched the sunset as I labored over reports. I remember eating lunch on the run with the office door barely ajar.
My 14-month-old son cranes his neck to peer up at me, babbling about something exceptional, though I can only guess what. I feel the tug of the world on one hand, the tender touch of my child on the other. Does my value come from a finance-producing job? I craved this career of motherhood for so long when it was unattainable and now that I am a mom I want to embrace it fully.
Becoming a first-time mom in my 30's challenges me to press into the core of my being to find answers about my true purpose as a woman. Being a work-at-home-mom (or WAHM) continues to force the issue—what am I to do with myself day-by-day? I work into the wee hours after my son (and often my husband) sleeps soundly. I remind myself that my research contributes to excellence in television broadcasting. During Logan's naps I make outbound calls collecting information to organize later. I do my work well and the TV producers compliment me. These are the kudos one covets in corporate America, but they fall nearly flat on me now. Instead I long to hear my child say "Mom." At that word I melt with overwhelming pride.
I wish I didn't have to work at anything but listening to his every utterance, but I am Generation X. We are burdened with heavy expenses like rising gas prices, high taxes, and a social security we never expect to receive. Retirement seems like a pipedream, and our highly-prized higher educations have put heavy debts on our backs. We don't own new cars, and we've purchased a home with a modest mortgage.
For my husband and me it is the worry about retirement that drives me to midnight sessions with my PowerBook G4. We own private disability policies, life insurances, e*trade accounts and 403b's, hoping they will be enough on which to survive in our 60's and beyond. So the red ink on the green sheets of our budget drives me to work part-time from home for supplemental income.
I clip coupons, shop sales, and re-gift to keep our bottom line within sight. We post items on sale at eBay and wonder when our breakthrough might come. I pray, "God? Help!" I trust he knows the full context of my plea.
So? Do I donate that sweet periwinkle suit to another whose struggles are more than my own? This is a defining choice for me. I turn away from the rows of hanging jackets and slacks toward my son. "What do you need, Logan?" I ask sincerely. He points and grunts and begins to toddle away from me and the walk-in closet, so I follow him to his room where he withdraws his favorite board book and holds it up to me eagerly with the sound I know to mean "Read to me all day!" So I do. I forget all time and dedicate myself to this moment and my miracle child.
Tomorrow I'll call Salvation Army for a pick-up. At least I can give away half of them…can't I? |
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