Motherhood, The Great Interruption: on being a mom

License: Creative Commons
License: Creative Commons

Can we talk for just a little minute about being a mom?

Early this morning, I saw an internet meme and drew tears out of me I didn’t know were still there.  Four side-facing silhouettes, one, two, and four pleasantly pregnant and colored blue, number three colored pink; the best abs of her life.  The post a reminder, one in four women experience pregnancy loss and infertility.

Shame clouded any specific emotions.

Just last week the kids wanted to talk about my first miscarriage, the one baby out of four we named and I still want to slink under the table and disappear when the subject pops up.

Yesterday, I found the poem I wrote marking that child’s impact on my life.  I hid it away in the drawer.

I realize and remember all too well that some women hurt deeply,  unable to experience the frenzy that accompanies motherhood and I don’t want  to minimize that excruciating heartbreak one little bit….


I wanna talk about being a mom and friends, I’m rockin it today.  Tomorrow, you may find me in my bed in the fetal position screaming “HUSH!” for the love of all things ordered, but today?

I am ON it!

It’s 8:48.

Successfully, I rolled out at 6:01 stumbling for the thermometer to determine the physical state of Number One child, on my way I rinsed my face of the miracle Nerium night-time mask I’m sampling…

Note to self:  apply for second mortgage

….and my hands were so wetI had to whip out stealth negotiation skills  while peeling  the cover off from the thermometer protector  one tissue sample at a time so as not to transport any unwelcome, unidentifiable, and unsanitary creatures into the mouths of Number Two and Number Three on some un-forseeable date in the future.

Note to all women: there’s a reason that the therMOMeter has mom written all over it 

I fought back his gusts of raging morning breath, pried open his clenched teeth and stuck that stick of  toxic mercury straight into his slimy mouth.  Scared the kid half to death as he tried to fight off the unknown intruder.

Single most important skill of mothers:  ability to witness absolute hysteria while maintaining the facial composure of a politician.  Case in point, the sustained shrieking of fevering Number Two child after witnessing the deceased carcass of a lethargic fly bouncing from her oatmeal onto her Ipad before coming to a rest on her fuzzy pink leopard robe. This trauma was real people!

After determining that Number One was indeed normal, I ordered him to the land of the living and feel compelled to note that he complied completely.

My habit is to wake these people up and then hide in a darkened family room while I communicate telepathically with my coffee until the last possible moment when I  make them lunch.  Today, Number Two forgot about the morning routine was scared half to death when she heard me finally speak.  Two for two!

The morning sped by after this excitement with a succession of daily duties including disembarking the dishwasher, blending a battalion of bangs and dispensing proper prescriptions.

I wrote 11 please-let-her-ride-the-late-bus-home notes for the month of October, taking time to double check the dates on the calendar with her play practice.

After determining that sickie Number One boy needed an extra day to allow meds to work further and his body to strengthen because sending him back to school will mean that he heads straight to football practice afterward making today, and the following three. 12-hr days followed by mountains of homework that will be due on forthwith (deep breath and maybe a comma) I summoned paternal agreement and immediately phoned the nurse so as to determine what type of document signed by Congress will be necessary to excuse such an absence.

Note to self: long election year ahead

Moving on.

After dismissing Number One child to bed and Number Two child to the bus but before summoning Number Three, there was a peace treaty to negotiate.

Now it should also be noted, that while we, here, have been spared excess tween drama (as in girls, not club), today,  I found myself with a situation requiring my intervention and in a search for solidarity, phoned another mom and officially “went there.”  Fortunately, she and I came to consensus proceeding with a pact for our Two out of the Three Members of this controversy . (thank you Lord for sparing me mama-drama.)

….so far.

With the armistice of my daughters social life in order, I turned to dinner.

Today will be full of work, the kind that results in funds appropriation for budget increases as opposed to alms and dinner isn’t started early, the masses will be miserable.

Note to self: must  shrink  Choir T-shirt before Number Two arrives home. She’s declared it over-sized and therefore unacceptable for the 7 pm concert.  You don’t even want to go there!

Second note to self: try to spoon out dinner like a civilized human mother instead of throwing it at them on their way through the kitchen at 9 this evening.  

Reflecting on the morning, I marvel at the ability  to reason so clearly this early  when I remember; the day didn’t actually start at 6:01 but at 2:33 when I was startled awake with the realization that in exhaustion and complete ineptitude, I had sent an aberrant video message (clean though politically incorrect)  to a new work associate.  She found it so funny that she remarked in a return text about sharing it with a friend.

At 2:34 a.m. I saw my whole life flash before my eyes when I considered my figmental, yet completely feasible future complete with a blip on the evening news about the latest suburban mom to lose her entire bid for the Presidency as the result of a vilified video.  I reminded myself why I expound ad nauseum about the dangers of the internet to my children.

Note to self:  Call said work associate first thing in the morning

Second Note to self: Spend time in prayer that you can turn this into learning tool for the youth under your care instead of a career-busting media debacle

Third Note to Self: Get a grip, you are not a celebrity politician in danger of a media debacle.

With Numbers One and Two children set on proper course for the day,I summoned Number Three.  I woke, I bargained, and  I force-fed before dousing a fresh toe-residing spider bite the size of the Capital Building with essential oils, (my contribution to the environment and a downsizing pharmaceuticals, and waiting for 15 minutes for the bus in the newest season, Fweezing Fwall. Only one thing left to do, toss the Taco Bell napkin full of snot before I accidently squeeze it.

Note to self:  Bus does not arrive five minutes later than usual on  30-minute-delayl-Wednesday as previously amended but  actually appears five minutes later than is customary.

Second note to self:  Dress that kid warmer or you’ll be filleted by the teachers on the playground 

All in all, I’d call this morning a screaming success.

Motherhood hasn’t come easy for me, not from the first blue line.

It’s been like reconstructive surgery for my soul. There aren’t enough pain killers for that kind of transformation, believe me, I’ve looked.

Here’s what I know though. If you give yourself to it, the living of the life that’s right in front of you right this moment; the pain, comedy, fear, fulfillment, anger, exhilaration, heart-break, resentment, shame and all, it’s worth it.

I’ve found missing pieces of myself as I’ve learned to mother these children and I’m forever grateful that they’ve interrupted my life.

Published by


I'm a forty something women managing a busy family, working as a hair designer and trying to use my big-girl words.

3 thoughts on “Motherhood, The Great Interruption: on being a mom”

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s