On Motherhood

Mother is a verb, not a noun. 
~Proverb

When you are pregnant, there are seemingly hundreds, thousands of books to read. Books for the married mother, books for the single mother, books on having twins or more, books for deployed mothers, books with information on nearly every single scenario a pregnant woman might find herself in.

There are just as many books about raising children. Books on infants, toddlers, children, older children. Books about sleep, potty training, food, crafts and activities. There are nearly as many parenting books as there are ways to raise babies.

On top of all that printed information, there are all kinds of classes. I watched a very intelligent and educated woman slide a baby doll through a plastic version of a pelvis, demonstrating a sunny-side up birth. (if only I had known I'd find myself having that same birthing experience.) A different woman talked to me about the difficulties of nursing, the diet I'd need to follow.

Before each doctor's appointment, I would read my pregnancy books, write down any questions, and ask my midwife about them. I started motherhood feeling prepared and confidant, with just a smattering of the nerves that betray me as a first timer. I continued that habit during Layla's doctor's visits, I read a few books, ask any questions, and make the best decisions I possibly can.

By the time Layla was just grinning up at me, when she was still in that newborn soft, squishy stage, I was confident in my parenting abilities. I still have questions, still seek answers, but… I know what I'm doing. Guided by all that information, and something called Mother Wit, I lost that first time jitteriness easily.

Until last week. I found myself with a feverish, sick little girl sleeping on my chest one evening, and her fever stubbornly continued to rise, despite all the tricks I knew to try, and a dose of medicine. Half an hour later, I was loading her, with those fever-bright cheeks and sunken eyes, into the car, packing a bag, and riding shotgun as we went to the hospital. It is a good thing Carl drove, I was shaking most of the ride.

I choked back tears repeatedly, as Layla and I snuggled into a waiting chair and watched cartoons. Tears and that rising feeling of pure panic, both of them waiting at the back of my throat, for the moment to spring on me. I fought the urge to shake the triage nurse, to tell her that my child was sick, this was a true emergency, do something more than give her some ibuprofen!!!

A few minutes after I reached what my personal breaking point, where all I wanted was my Mommy and my pillow, in about that order… a very sweet doctor told me that Layla had a double ear infection, and maybe pink eye. With medicines to pick up at the pharmacy in the morning, we went home, and with her fever temporarily at bay, Layla went to sleep. But in that moment, when my whole world was squeezed down to a sick child, I lost that cool I know what I'm doing I'm good at this vibe, and instead, that jittering case of nerves came rushing back at me.

Just when I would get arrogant, get that cocky edge I have that I know drives so many people away… life steps in to bring me back down a step or two. I just wish the lesson, when God steps in to teach me, didn't hurt quite so much. Perhaps the lesson is a dual one. A lesson in humility, and a reminder that the student does not get to dictate the lesson.

~Jennifer