The last few weeks I have felt a bit like what Dorothy might have felt like if the tornado that picked her up had never landed anywhere. Work has been simply insane—lots of meetings, lots of deadlines, lots of late nights—so I haven’t had a lot of time with the kids. And so, as always happens when you’re feeling like a sucky mother, one of your kids gives you a blow right across the jaw. This time, the culprit was sweet baby Jay who decided to start calling his nanny Lyn “Mama”. Oh, and not only calling her Mama, but recoiling from his real mama any chance he got.
Talk about kicking you when you’re down.
Now, I know this is a phase. Annie went through the same thing about this time. (Danny never did, but it turns out that he wasn’t crying for me and running to my arms every night out of great love but rather our of relief that he wouldn’t be stuck in his highchair eating Cheerios and watching Mexican soap operas with Rosa for another three hours). And I tried not to take it personally when Jay started calling Lyn mama. But of course I did. All kinds of thoughts ran through my head. That’s OK, I have two kids that love me. Well, THIS is why I am glad we aren’t having any more kids, clearly working mothers should not have children. Well, fine, Jay I’ll just ignore you too. Wait until you want “boob boob” around three a.m. That’s fine. I deserve this. I suck as a mother. And then I went in my office and cried.
Did I mention how stressed out and overtired I was?
That first night, I told my mother what Jay had done. And she laughed. She thought it was the funniest thing ever that I was even telling her about this, let alone thinking about it. And then she apparently told my father who agreed this was just another funny Eileen story. She just couldn’t even fathom why I was upset. They were still laughing about it a week later.
I wasn’t quite ready to go there with them but by the weekend, after a few hours of uninterrupted family time, I was willing to loosen up a bit. OK, I have to admit it, what really made me get over it was when Jay called both Dan and Danny “Mama” in the span of an hour. Clearly, this isn’t all that personal.
Growing up, I spent all my weekends and summers with my aunt and uncle at their beach house. It was an idyllic childhood, swimming all day, falling asleep to the sounds of the waves crashing and the feeling of water finally escaping from my always waterlogged ears. There was an ashtray full of quarters for the ice cream man who always drove by each night. There were containers full of cookies always at the ready, roller skates always on my feet, sand always in my sheets and good friends always by my side.
But yet, when I grew older, a little part of me always wondered if I was there because my parents didn’t really want me around. I was the quintessential “mistake” baby, born to my mother when she was 42 with a 16 year old and 12 year old practically raised. She was an “older” mother, back in those days when no one was yet having kids in their 40s. She has gone back to work and was so shocked at the thought that she could be pregnant that it took the doctor having my dad come in for a visit when she was already past four months to convince her that I was indeed a baby and not a tumor.
Now, don’t get me wrong, I know—and have always known—that my parents love me. I couldn’t ask for better parents and am so grateful for all they do for me to this day. But I did wonder how my mother could send me off to my aunt and uncle, who were in their 70s at the time and had never had children of their own (no one ever dared to ask why although we always assume it was infertility because there are no two people more full of love for kids than they were). I mean, didn’t she miss me? Didn’t she worry about the milestones? Didn’t she want to teach me how to read? Seriously, didn’t she miss me?
I finally figured it out this past week. My parents had faith in love. My mom was a mature enough mother that she didn’t have to sweat the small stuff. She knew that I would always love her and that there would never be any question as to who my mother was. She knew I would always need her, just like I do. And she knew that the most amazing gift that she could give me was to bring these people who had so much love to give, and who loved me so much, into such a big role in my life. I am sure she missed me like crazy but rather than having me sit around the house all summer she sent me to this amazing, fun place. She took her love and made it into more.
And that’s what I am finally getting, as I myself head towards 40. The more people that my kids have in their lives that love them, the better off they are. My kids have the gift of having an incredible nanny, someone who is truly an essential member of their family. Their bond is so special because it is built on deep, mutual love. And it is a relationship they will have with Lyn for all their lives. And it will enrich them and in turn teach them how to give and share love. So, like my mother says, who cares if Jay calls Lyn Mama. He loves her. And that is a good thing.
In fact, it’s great.
