"Hi, sunshine," I say groggily as I sit myself up and pull her onto my lap. It's 4 am. I went to bed at 2. But I wouldn't trade it for anything--the gentle mmm-mmm she makes as she eats, her face lighting up excitedly as she fills her stomach. She moves her hands around, grabbing anything she can find--her ear, her hair, her eyebrow. Occasionally, though, she rests her hand on my chest and looks up at me. She'll stop sucking, distracted by all the different shapes my lamp makes on the yellow walls... That's when I have to coax her, tickle her feet. "Keep eating," I say. Can you even imagine seeing everything for the first time again? Having that curiosity, the chance to relearn everything about this world?
When she's slowing down, it's suck-suck-suck-long pause... Suck-suck-slurp-long pause... Slurp-slurp-long pause... Slurp and... then she's in that dopey drunk-on-milk phase, where she grins like a grizzled 50 year-old man downing beers at the Superbowl. Milk dribbles out of the corner of her mouth, her eyes roll back in her head--she's in that stage between awake and asleep, thinking of--what do babies think of? Big boobs full of warm milk? Puppies, cupcakes, butterflies, and Santa? I don't know, but I do know it's my favorite moment of the day or night--that content baby lying across my lap, smiling in her sleep.
Then it's time to burp her, wrap her back up, put her down on my bed, curl up next to her and try to go back to sleep. I'm exhausted but I keep prying my eyes open in case I'm missing some of her cuteness. Finally I drift off to sleep, our breathing in tandem. In two hours, it'll start all over again...
I grew up constantly being told what a great mother I'd one day make. This isn't unusual in Utah County, by the way--women are expected to become mothers, and it's pretty commonly believed that every woman has that potential inside of her. Still, I wasn't ever that thrilled by the compliment (and it is a compliment). "I'll have kids one day," I always said. "After I've lived my life."
Now Fin is here, and it feels completely natural to nurture. I anticipate her needs, check her diaper three times an hour, know which cry is her hungry cry and which one is indicating boredom. I thought these mothering tendencies came with the huge belly of pregnancy--just came in with the milk. Looking back now, though, I am startled with the realization that I've always been a nurturer. I've always held that mother archetype--more Demeter than Persephone. I've always had the skills to mother.
My family's known this for years. That's what you get when you're the oldest child--you're the one who bosses everyone around, you're the one who reads the rules out loud when playing a board game, you're the one who presides and conducts everything from family dinners to trying to get people out of the house for a family outing. I've held that role for my entire life.
My friends know about my mommying, too. Just ask them what I do when they come over even for an hour--scramble around to find something for them to eat, to drink, to sit on. And hosting a party? Forget it. I make a whole day of primping the house, planning a menu, and providing activities in case they get bored for one second. And they know I'm a world class nagger--put on your seatbelt, order some vegetables, go to college. Plus, I'm that friend who grabs 35 napkins for everyone when we go out to eat. Then I pass them out to everyone.
Is it all something I came with? Or did I learn everything I know about parenting from my own fantastic parents, particularly my mother, who is the one who secretly cleaned all those dishes from my parties and taught me that thing about the napkins? And do all women have it in them to hold this role someday? I think so.
What a blessing to realize that I not only have the skills and capacity to be a great mom, but that they are a part of me, not just something that grew in my uterus next to Fin. It gives me more confidence to know that I've always had it. And on days when I want to pull my hair out--not because of Fin, who is the most easy-going, patient, non-fussy baby I've ever heard of--but because of the monotony--those days I pat myself on the back when I change her diaper one-handed, or have a successful breastfeeding session. Those days require little celebrations. And I'm happy to give them to myself. Just another one of the fantastic mothering skills I know--Mommy deserves lots of celebrations.
And I love her. Did I mention how much I love her? If there was any part of me missing before, any confusion as to what to do with my life, it's cleared up. Of course, there's more to me than being a mom, and there's certainly more to my life than Fin, but now it all has meaning. And if I'm ever lost about who I am and why I'm here, I just picture Fin in a few months saying it:MAMA.
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