When I looked at the date this column was due, I groaned inwardly. Sure, I could write about the beauty of mothers and motherhood. I could come up with some sappy words about my mom—although there was nothing sappy about our relationship. We loved each other but were at loggerheads from time to time.
But what I can offer is that motherhood is hard. Just think: Motherhood is a forever job — the child you birthed or adopted will never stop being your child! We worry about them from the moment they are put in our arms through their adulthood and perhaps when we are in the great beyond.
Our child arrives as a tiny helpless bundle of joy—and joy it brings. There are congratulations, flowers and the new baby neck smell. It also brings fear! The day we take our infant home, we are beset with a myriad of what if’s that never occurred to us before.
We may fret over the normal sounds our little bundle of joy makes. It brings sleep deprivation (hopefully we have a supportive partner). It brings everything we expected or nothing like we expected.
Back in the day, I gave up my preferred reading and became a devotee of Dr. Spock. I learned a new language: Baby-speak! I was a master; I was the only one who understood my son’s babbling.
In a flash we are dropping them off to nursery school or kindergarten. For working mothers like me, it was a constant emotional roller-coaster ride. I lived in Staten Island at the time.
Dropping off my oldest to the babysitter, I experienced a lump in my throat enroute to the ferry going to Manhattan. Once on the ferry I would hide in a stall in the ladies’ room and bawl my eyes out. When finished, I would repair my makeup in a cloudy mirror provided in the ladies’ room and I was good to go.
Raising teenage sons can be a harrowing experience! Our home was the hub of neighborhood activities. Makes sense. My husband George built them a room in the basement—it wasn’t soundproof.
My sons came and went through the side door. Sometimes there were 10 teens blasting music: Queen, Sonic Youth, Kiss and Nirvana. Truth be known I loved it!
The downside: The Staten Island Expressway was a few blocks away from our home. Whenever I heard an ambulance or police siren at night, I would freeze—then awaken my husband. Heart pounding, I was convinced it had something to do with my sons. George got over that pretty fast. I never did. More sleep deprivation!
College and beyond were strange years. I had to wrap my fears in a bow and hide them in the recesses of my mind. I rarely gave them a front row seat. That was until I got a call at work from Greg, son number one, that starts with: “Mom, don’t worry — everything is okay. My son went on to say he was hit by a truck while riding his bicycle to work in San Francisco.
I stood frozen (froze up a lot back then) gripping the phone tightly in my hand. I squawked “WHAT?”
He retold his story, and yes, he was all right. I wasn’t. One of the doctors where I worked said I looked faint and had me lay down in an examining room.
Another call, another day, from Jeff, number two son. “Mom, I got a promotion, guess where I am going.” Instinctively, I knew it wouldn’t be on the East Coast. But this? “Mom I am going to work in the Mojave Desert!”
“WHAT,” I squawked — again.
In the forefront of my mind was fear of rattlesnakes, scorpions, wilderness, and no communication. This was the beginning for my youngest, who works for the Federal Government and has details in interesting places.
When children marry, more is needed, especially if you have sons. There is a new woman in first place— and as it should be. I have been blessed with great daughters-in law, although there were times that I had to zip it up —my consternation was usually with one of my sons. The “WHAT?” that I often uttered would not fly nowadays.
Another call decades later, I was told I was going to become a grandma to a little boy. My answer: “What?” I thought that ship had sailed. I was blessed with my heart’s delight, Luca, and two years later Nova, my grandkiddos.
Being Ammie (grandma) is not hard at all. Traveling across the country often to see them is commonplace. Showering them with love and affection without worry is refreshing.
Motherhood, for me, is a wonderful, chaotic, rewarding, messy, noisy, crazy roller-coaster ride. Would I do it all again? You betcha! `
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