Motherhood

Sometimes I wonder about me and this motherhood job I have. I think that if it was time for my annual review, I'd be given various warnings for insubordination, if not fired completely from the job. "We're sorry, but you just don't have what it takes to do the job," I'd be told. "You have some weaknesses that really impact the success of true motherhood and apparently, it's just not your thing. Maybe you should try something that doesn't involve little people."

Don't get me wrong. I love my little men immensely. I'd die for them, I really would. And I even miss the babyhood years. I miss waking several times in the night to have to nurse a fussy baby back to sleep, snuggling cozily next to me. I miss experiencing the joys of their firsts -- first laughter, first time sitting, crawling, walking. Of course, there continue to be firsts and will be more firsts as they grow older, and I do celebrate them, but I think that the firsts that come along later aren't really supposed to be celebrated because real moms don't want to let go of their babies and want to keep their little ones small forever because it's true what they say -- you blink and suddenly, they are grown and talking back and learning and have their individual likes and dislikes and personalities all their own. So when the last one takes that big step onto the school bus for his first day of school, you're supposed to be all teary and sad because you realize you are letting go and he is independent of you, ready to forge ahead into another long phase of his life. See, that's the problem; I don't get teary and all sad. I didn't with the oldest, and didn't with the youngest. No, I am thrilled to see my little guy take that step. I'm practically jumping up and down with joy. And so, isn't that wrong? Isn't that as far from maternal as you can be when you are more than happy to hand off your last baby to others for the day?

I think it's that light at the end of the tunnel and the problem is that the brighter it gets, the more blind it makes me. And if it's wrong to keep staring at that bright light, then so be it. But I can't help it. Life is dark enough; why wouldn't I want to notice the light and keep staring at it?

So if my feelings are all wrong, then I don't want to be right, because in this special circumstance, I think I am the only person qualified for this job. And no matter how big they get, they never outgrow hugs and kisses. And I don't, either.