During my pregnancy, I had definite expectations of what the moment I first beheld my long-awaited child would be like. I had read my share of memoirs about the mystery, the magic, the sense of marvel that other women felt and I admit that as I beheld the tiny body, all head and legs and arms, never before had I felt so wonderful. Or so unprepared. So fulfilled. Or so frustrated. Mostly I remember feeling frightened beyond words.
All the external acts of motherhood were unfamiliar: feeding, clothing, bathing, changing a diaper, attending to the needs of this totally dependent lad at all times of the day and night, were daunting tasks. He was so tiny. What if I broke him? What if I did something wrong? How could my insides be so mixed up when I was supposed to feel very different. Certainly I thought I should feel something besides apprehension. Who ever knew one could be so tired (and that was before six months of colic).
There was no doubt that I loved him with all my heart but I felt so inadequate.
Nobody warned me about the conflicting emotions I would experience, either. Somehow it seemed that God had this whole parenting thing backwards. I was given that tiny, needy little bundle at a time when I had no idea what unconditional love meant. I was a girl in a woman's body who was self absorbed and childish, confused and immature, who had absolutely no idea what to do to overcome the selfishness and the jealousy as my tiny baby got all the attention and the gifts. After all, I did all the work. I resented being bumped up the chain of command.
I have long since made peace with my less-than-perfect start at motherhood, but I still have one grievance about those early years. I never found the line to complain about the fact that my kids weren't born with age-appropriate instructions written on their little backsides.
Maybe it's a good thing that I didn't know where the lines were.
Funny, though, after practicing my vocation these twenty odd years, I'm convinced that God really did know what He was doing (imagine that). My children were sent so that I could grow up.
I'm overwhelmed by the knowledge that after four pregnancies, miles of stretch marks that seem to reach almost to my chin, and all those hours of labor, not to count all that came afterward, what I was actually given was a treasure, a blessing from God. The Great Giver, the All Knowing had seen fit to send me these four particular bundles of puppy dog tails and snails. He realized that I had lots of growing up to do.
It also turns out that I did experience those read-about emotions. Just not when I thought I would. Now I'm having to let my boys grow up, which brings about a whole new set of emotions. It's an honor to be a part of their lives, and I'm so proud of who they are growing up to be, however I can't help remembering the little boys who looked to me for the entirety of the basics of their lives. Truth is, they're growing up at the same time I finally figured out the control thing…and I've become very good at it, too, I might add. Alas.
So much went into the simple act of …well… becoming a Mom.
I guess it's just part of God's great plan. That of making my beloved hubbie the father, the head of our family, and, in His mercy, making me, the Mom, the heart of it.
It hasn't always been easy, but it's who I am.
© Copyright 2003 Catholic Exchange
Jackie Zimmerer is a wife and mother of four sons. She attends St. John's Catholic Church in the Diocese of Fort Worth, Texas.
