This is my Mother’s Day post—which is a couple weeks late. It’s late because at my house we are very busy mothering. My daughter and her family have been staying with us for the Covid season, and she recently delivered a baby: little Beatrice Rose is three weeks old, and, believe me, she is the sweetest little seven pounds you will ever hold.
And hold and hold and hold. Beatrice loves to be held. There’s a theory that all human babies are born premature (because of that pesky big head we have) and the first three months of a baby’s life are really the fourth trimester of gestation. The sweet little things just want to be back in the womb, all snuggled safe and warm and getting food whenever their tiny tummies feel empty.
Luckily, we have four sets of arms to hold Beatrice, and two more sets just down the street at Krystian’s house. (This is why Mary is still here—so great to have lots of support with a newborn.) But even so, my left arm is feeling the muscle fatigue of the long holding. I’m remembering the techniques of getting things done with only one arm free: opening the fridge, fixing bottles, spreading peanut butter for big sister’s sandwich, turning pages in the book I’m reading.
I have a photo somewhere that Paul snapped not long after my third child was born. We are in the bathroom. Anna, age 3, is in the tub. Emily, age 18 months, is balanced precariously on the grown-up potty. I am supporting her with one hand. In my other arm is nestled tiny baby Mark. When I look at this photo, I have two questions: 1) How did I ever do it? And 2) why was Paul taking the photo and not helping?!
I have another memory of holding a newborn. This time all the other children are asleep and Paul and I are watching a movie on TV while I hold and nurse the tiny baby. It was a war movie, I think, one of those movies where lots of gun fire is exchanged and dozens of people are killed. I tended that tiny little soul in my arms, soothing the cries, patting out the burps, rocking and cooing. Here’s the soundtrack of our family room that evening:
“Wah! Wah!”
“There, there, little sweetie, you’re OK.”
“Kapow! Crash! Pew-pew-pew!”
At last, I couldn’t take it anymore. I cried out over the gunfire on the screen, “How can they do that? How can they just kill people like that? Don’t they know how hard it is to get any person even born? Don’t they know how hard it is to keep a little baby alive after they are born? Don’t they know all the sacrifice and hard work, and pain that is invested into every single living being? How can they just snuff a life out with a pew-pew-pew!”
Paul, I think, turned off the movie and probably blamed post-partum hormones for my outburst.
But really, just think about it. Humans are designed so that someone—a mother-- has to suffer for them to be born. Just carrying that little fetus/zygote messes with your body almost from the moment of conception. My daughter Mary suffers from hyperemesis—really brutal morning sickness. She started throwing up before the positive pregnancy test, and then spent the next three months vomiting so much she had to stay in bed with an IV. That is sacrifice.
Then, once a mom stops vomiting, the sweet little one has grown so big she is taking up all the space normally reserved for vital organs. The baby doesn’t care if mom can’t digest or breathe.
Baby is the priority for the body for the nine months she is growing.
When Mary was so sick she couldn’t eat anything, we worried if the baby would be affected. The doctor blithely replied, “Oh no. Your body’s priority is to feed the baby. You will suffer, but not baby.”
Let’s not even talk about childbirth. When my husband had kidney stones, the doctor said, “Now you know something of what your wife went through with childbirth, but this is not as bad.”
Then there’s the whole keeping-baby-alive-once-they-are-born challenge that we have already discussed.
And then as baby grows, teaching them to be safe, and kind, and responsible. Just think about that for a minute
So—what are the takeaways here?
If you are alive, you have a mother to thank. If you are even a moderately functional adult, you probably have a mother—and a father, and many other parental figures-- to thank.
Also, when you look at any person--even people you disagree with or people who have hurt you or people who do wrong things—remember that person had a mother who sacrificed to carry him/her, who gave up sleep and self-care in order to keep that person alive. Recognize the value of that person, even if you just think about what the life cost in human sacrifice and effort.
So, number 1, thank a mother.
Secondly, value the people around you. Judging by the effort that got them here, their worth is great.
And, if you are a mom--even though this is late--I’m wishing you a Happy Mother’s Day. You are a hero.
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