You Know You're A Mother When....

In timely fashion, I'm dedicating my first post (after a 2 month hiatus) to all moms for Mothers' Day.

Yes, yes - I can spend the first couple of paragraphs explaining my sudden drought of posts (not that I was that prolific in the first place) but can I just sum it up in a few succinct words? Moving houses. No maid. No nanny. 2 small children. Just me.

Get the picture?

Moving on....

Earlier this evening I woke Olivia from a deep sleep, knowing full well a) that she didn't get a good nap this afternoon, b) she was extremely tired and cranky, c) that she might not go back to sleep after. I woke her up because I wanted her to drink some milk. Because I was worried that she'd only had 16 ounces today and didn't meet her usual 24-32 ounce quota. And that she didn't have a good lunch. And only a so-so dinner (even though she did eat a big bowl of sautéed squash and rice. And 2 glasses of chocolate milk. And ice cream.)

I was worried that she might be hungry. Or worse, that she might become malnourished.

Of course anyone who has ever met my hoover-vaccum-cleaner of a two-year old knows that's impossible. But I woke her up anyway. Because I'm a mother and that's what we do - worry excessively and create impossible situations for ourselves. (Thankfully she quickly downed the 8 ounces I was force-feeding her and went right back to sleep. God, I love this kid!)

It got me thinking of the things we do as mothers (or at the very least, the things I do as a mother) that only mothers can, or are willing to, do.

So here's my list of things I know I can do that I'm pretty sure my husband can't. I know I'm a mother because:

1) I can pick up someone else's poop or wipe off someone else's pee/vomit without getting grossed out/fainting/puking/calling the CDC.

2) I can read Goodnight Moon and Hooray for Fish out loud, 8 times in a row, in one night without killing myself or someone else.

3) I can see myself picking up an 8 year old kid by the scruff of his shirt and beating the living crap out of him for hitting my daughter. (I wouldn't do it of course.... but I can certainly see myself doing it)

4) I can sweep the floor with a baby attached to my hip.

5) I can maneuver a stroller, a diaper bag, a hand bag, 2 large bags of groceries and a baby (who refuses to sit in the damn stroller) through the mall all by myself.

6) I can multi-task to the point where I would put CEOs to shame (run laundry, feed kids, check homework, cook dinner and watch Bloomberg all AT THE SAME TIME).

7) I can carry an informed and stimulating conversation about the merits of Adventure Time vis a vis your standard cartoon shows and why Barbie is the best friend a girl can have. Ever.

8) I can sing the theme songs to at least 8 different children shows.

9) I can imagine (easily) giving up my life for someone else's. Literally and figuratively.

10) I can put someone else's needs before my own.

Who knew I had it in me?

That P&G ad had it right: The hardest job in the world, is the best job in the world.

Now if only I could find a way to get paid.....

A Woman of Power

In celebrating Women's Day today, a lot of people have been asking what the definition of an "empowered" woman is. The hell if I know. If someone does manage to nail the definition down, please let me know.

Growing up I always thought I knew what an empowered woman was not. That was my mom.

Yes I love my mom. I love her deeply, with all the Elektra complex/teenage angst/conflicted relationship feelings that come with a mother-daughter relationship.

When I was really young I loved her unconditionally. I followed her around all the time. Picked flowers for her. Drove myself crazy trying to do what would please her. I loved her as much as any 6-year old child could love a parent.

But as I grew older my feelings for my mother became more complicated.

I questioned why she should have so much authority over me, considering it was obvious that it was my father who ran the show - both in and outside of our home.

It bothered me that her career - was taking care of me and my brother and sisters. I felt that outside of our family she had no life. Her life revolved around taking care of our house, taking care of us kids, and taking care of my dad. And I always asked myself - how could that be enough for her? Didn't she want more out of her life? Didn't she think she deserved better?

When I was in my late teens to early twenties it got to the point, and to this day I cringe at myself whenever I remember, where I looked down on my mother. On days when I would be angry with her (and those days were very frequent back then) I felt that she was just a few notches above the household help. I was a tremendously pompous asshole, and to this day I feel bad for every time I made her feel that way.

In those days I thought I was just, to paraphrase an old co-worker, the shiznit. Whatever that means - I sure felt that way. And I would constantly tell my dad that I would rather die than grow up and be like my mother. I was going to grow up just like him - a master of the universe. I would be "the man". I promised him that I would never get married. And even if I did I would never have kids. Because kids would drag me down, hold me back.

I would look at my mother and tell myself: "there's no way in hell I am going to spend my life taking care of other people, and putting their needs before mine. I am more important than that. People are going to have build their lives around me, and not the other way around."

I would watch as my mother kept our house spotless, prepared home-cooked meals, made curtains and table cloths (yes, my mother sewed our curtains and table cloths. She even sewed our pj's as kids. She could've given Martha Stewart a run for her money.) --- and I would think --- what a waste. She went to college for this?

I was such a jerk.

As I got older I learned to be kinder, if not more tolerant of my mother. It helped that I had gotten married and lived away from home.

Then she got sick.

And everything changed.

12 years ago she got diagnosed with Progressive Supra-Nuclear Palsy. It's a rare neurological disease that slowly robbed her of the ability to move, the ability to eat, and the ability to speak. It has even robbed her of the ability to blink.

It is a thief that stole a little bit of my mom each year, until there's barely any of her left.

And it has taken me 12 years to realize, and appreciate, what a wonderful woman my mother is. And how much I have wronged her, and failed her as a daughter.

The start of her disease marked the start of my own journey towards motherhood. I met John the year she was diagnosed. And in the course of these 12 years I have built my own family. Had the children I swore I would never want. And discovered how much of my mother is in me. And how much more of her character I wish I had in myself.

More and more I wish I could be the woman my mother was. Be the mother she was to me to my own kids.

I will never be half the home-maker she was. I will never be as great a cook. I will never have the patience, strength and energy she had that got her through raising 4 kids --- hell, I struggle daily with the 2 I already have.

And I don't think I will ever have the grace and love that she showed me whenever I said or did something bad to her. All the times I made her feel little -- to make myself feel bigger.

Would that God bless me with even a measure of that grace, love and forgiveness that my mom constantly showed me.

--------

Every couple of months my mom has a nasty bout with pneumonia brought about by her condition. May be once year the doctors will ask us to sign a document that says we authroize them not to revive my mom in case she codes. And they ask us to say goodbye.

And every time they do, I tell my mom how much I love her. How sorry I am for every time I hurt her. That I appreciate, now more than ever, every little thing she ever did for me. And that she is the best mom anyone could ever ask for.

But the words, they ring hollow to me. They ring hollow to her, because we don't even know if she can still hear us. And even if she did, I don't know if she still understands. But I say them anyway. Because I'm hoping that she does. I'm hoping that her spirit is free from the cage that is her body now --- and that wherever that spirit roams --- it hears my words.

----------

As of today my mom's been in the hospital for almost a month. She came in with pneumonia, suffered a heart attack, was put on ventilator and we were told she wasn't going to last the week. They told us to say goodbye.

5 days later she was off the ventilator, she was kicking the pneumonia on its ass and was out of the ICU.

3 days later her pneumonia came back (with friends), she was taken back to the ICU and put back on the ventilator. She presented with a 40 degree fever that wouldn't go away despite the fact that her body was wrapped in a thermal blanket that was set at 4 degrees. It was hinted that she might not last the weekend. And that may be we should say goodbye. Again.

4 days later she's out of the ICU, her lungs are clear, the pneumonia is gone, and she breathing room air. She's not even on assisted oxygen! Just room air.

I'm not sure it that qualifies her as an empowered woman, but it certainly proves that my mom is a woman of power.

So I celebrate her today.

An Early Mother's Day Note to My Girls

I take pictures in my mind

Of things I hope to never forget

Like your big toothless smile when you wake up next to me

Or the sight of you running down the school lawn

With your arms outstretched to hug me.

The way your eyes disappear when you laugh

Or the way you sleep with your mouth open in the car.

I want to remember

Seeing you fall

And watching you pick yourself up

The way you twirl around in my room with a frilly skirt and flowers in your hair.

My girl.

My girls.

But how will I take a picture of....

The sweet smell of your breath

Or how it feels to hold your tiny hand in mine.

There will be no pictures of.....

Your big, wet, sloppy kisses

The sound of your laugh

The feel of your hand rubbing my arm as you try to fall asleep

And the delicate scent of you as you sleep.

There are just these words

And my thoughts

And my prayers

That I will never forget

The things that make me grateful to be your mother.

Mother's talk

I never wanted to become a mother. I never even wanted to become a wife.

When I was 23 I promised my dad that I would never get married, and at the time I meant it. I was preparing to take my GREs, I had just finished taking my TOEFL and all I could think of was moving to another country and getting my master's degree.

When my friend Twinkle told me she was getting married, I spent long hours trying to convince her that it was a ridiculous idea. We were only 23 (well, she was 24)! The world was at our feet. She was supposed to go to law school, the same way I was supposed to get my MA. After her wedding reception a bunch of guy friends and I went out drinking and toasted our wonderful single-ness and vowed to never let ourselves get caught in the same trap.

Then 6 months later I met John. At first there was no cause for alarm. He was a die-hard bachelor who had never had a serious girlfriend. On our 3rd date he told me that if I was the kind of girl that just wanted to get married and have babies then may be I should date someone else. Because he wanted to get married at 40, if he ever did decide to get married. I told him that by the time he was 40 I'd be 33, so that would be perfect because I didn't want to get married either, and by then I'd be old enough just to be his live-in girlfriend without killing my parents.

Three months later he proposed. I don't know who was more surprised by the words that came out of his mouth, me or him. Or by the fact that I actually said yes.

A year later I found myself married, but at least we both agreed that we didn't want to have kids. At least not right away.

After a year of marriage we decided that we would "casually" try to have children, thinking to ourselves: "how hard could it be?". A year later we found out just how hard.

Nothing makes you want children more than finding out that you can't have any. At least not in the easy, normal way that other people could.

So we got on the 3 year roller coaster ride that was our (well, more like "my" really) life on fertility medication. First we tried the oral drugs, but those only caused more cysts on my ovaries --- none of which resulted in a viable egg. We switched doctors. And then again. Until we finally met Greg. Then the shots in ass started. And oh what fun they were. But at the end of it all, I finally developed 5 eggs. Which promptly started dying. One by one. By the end of our cycle we only had 1 left. And Greg was doubtful that it would get fertilized. He recommended that we do artificial insemination, just to increase our chances of fertilization. So I got the turkey baster up the wazoo --- and when we got home from the clinic that night, we did it the old fashioned way. Just in case.

2 weeks later they said the words we never thought we'd ever hear: you're pregnant. Followed by: now you have to go on bed rest. For the next 9 months.

The next 35 weeks were the most beautiful, harrowing, nerve wracking, fantastic 35 weeks of my life. I was hospitalized twice. Once when I started bleeding for no reason and almost expelled the little embryo that was growing inside me. Another when the placenta partially detached itself from my uterus and almost caused us to bleed out again. On my 35th week check-up Greg saw that my placenta had started shriveling and was threatening the baby, so he delivered me via c-section the next day.

On November 13, 2004, I met the person who changed my life. Forever.

Pilar Zita T. Medina, 10:54 a.m. November 13, 2004. 6 lbs. 4 oz. 18 in.

Changed it so much that 3 years after she was born I quit the job I loved so that I could be with her all the time.

I am now Mother. And I can't imagine not having wanted to be this person. Because I am a better person now for having had her, for knowing her, and for helping her grow. I am now the person that I know God has always wanted me to be. Far from perfect, but always struggling to be better --- so that I can help her be the best person that she can be, whoever that is 15-20 years from now.

She has shown me how much love there is to be found in the tight embrace of arms that can barely enfold you. In hands so small they fit in your palm. In the sweet breath that blows against your face at night when someone snuggles up close.

So much love. So much that I found myself wanting more. Willing to go through the shots in the ass, the turkey baster, the petri-dish, the catheter.

I was blessed to hear those magical words: you are pregnant, 3 more times. Never losing hope, even when two of those magical times ended so abruptly, with so much pain and loss.

Soon we will be meeting the next person who will change our lives. Forever.

And I will tell her, "you know, I never wanted to become a mother. But may be that's only because we've never met. Not until today. But today I know I have always wanted to be yours."