I have been having one of those days when, for no good reason, all you really want to do is have a long, loud cry. While some people might think this probably means there is a hotline somewhere that I should be calling, my mom friends all tell me it’s alright. And on any given day four out of five of them would like to join in too.
I don’t know why we moms feel the urge to cry so much. I should say that it isn’t always out of sadness. The way Annie says ‘yes” with a little lisp, or eats an M&M in about twenty sharp little chews, can make me well up. Jay’s “tickletickletickle” is so pure, especially when combined with a quick head-on-my-shoulder cuddle, that it can do the trick. Danny’s straight-faced misuse of words (most recent is “classified” for “classic”) can bring a tear along with laughter.
And so can Annie’s knock-down temper tantrums over a missing princess. Or Danny’s high-pitched screaming through the house at bedtime. And even Jay’s tickles can be a bit much at 2 a.m. Sorry, Jay.
They say that as parents you get to relive your own childhood. This is definitely true. I feel like I have rediscovered my love of a simple leaf, of playing tag, and of driving Barbie around in a purple convertible. And maybe by doing these things, I have also rediscovered what it’s like to live with your heart perpetually on your sleeve. That is, after all, what kids do.
One thing all we moms have in common is that for us, just like for our kids, every day brings some new adventure and invariably a new challenge along with it. A trip to the museum can get delayed by poop in the hair (don’t ask). An ice cream treat can turn ugly when half way home, half way down from a sugar high, no one wants to walk.
But then a dreaded rainy afternoon can turn magical with something as simple as a round of Candy Land. A weed brought home from the sidewalk can warm up a kitchen windowsill for a week, long after it turns brown and shriveled.
It’s a bit of an emotional roller coaster to keep up with all these downs, so is it really a wonder that we cry so much?
Or maybe we are all just way too tired.
Which brings me to one of the reasons that I am a bit teary today. I ran into an old friend who has a pretty similar life to mine. She grew up in the same town back in Massachusetts, moved out here and married a local boy, and now has three kids. We agree on Starbucks over Peets. We like the same stands at the farmers’ market. We were both outraged when our daughters’ ballet teacher tried to kick moms out of class. And we both found our husbands’ absolute refusal to consider a fourth child incomprehensible and utterly infuriating.
But guess what? Yup, she’s nine months pregnant.
Now your first reasonable question is why someone who was just talking about how tired they are can now turn around and say she wants more chaos. But the answer is simple enough: I just do.
There is nothing I love more than being a mother, nothing I love more than being pregnant. Now, I have been lucky and had easy pregnancies. But feeling a baby grow inside of you, knowing that you are host to this kind of a miracle, it is heady stuff for even moms that spend all nine months on the bathroom floor. And then greeting that baby, watching them grow into these crazy, beautiful little people is more addictive than any drug. So yes, I want more.
Frankly, I should have been a Mormon since being a Roman Catholic doesn’t seem to be doing the trick.
There a million reasons why three babies is enough but I have always had my heart set on four. Being the mistake baby of my family, with my closest sibling twelve years older, I was in many ways an only child. My brother was out of the house when I was four, my sister when I was barely in junior high. I always wondered what went on in the homes of people with big families, like the Cunninghams next door to us where every year saw a new baby, until they reached around ten and needed a bigger house.
And now I know. What goes on is laughter and messes and fights. Long goodnights, monsters at the door, hugs at five a.m. Bath tubs that get more and more crowded. Hand-me-downs that start to wear at the knees. Dinners with more food on the floor than in mouths. Playdates with the little ones tagging around after big brother’s impressive school friends. Digging in the garden, riding bikes, selling lemonade and cookies. Always together, always loud. Always something new.
I know I am blessed. And I am beyond grateful But tonight, while I nurse my sweet baby, now almost a little boy, to sleep, I am going to press my lips to his warm, fuzzy head. And between some lullabies, there just might be some tears.
And some secret hopes that someday that beautiful cradle might be used once again. That’s another thing about being like a child. You stay full of those beautiful, crazy dreams.
I am crying at work...great post...love my baby and can't wait for more. :)
Posted by: Taj | 03/11/2010 at 02:25 PM