To My Mom

I became a mother two weeks ago.  In fact, a little shy of two weeks ago, I was sitting in my living room waiting on Andy to come home, and I was in early labor – scared and excited about meeting my sweet boy.  Becoming a mother has been an awesome, wonderful experience, and it is something that I am still wrapping my head around and will have to be another post for another day.  Today’s post is about my mom and what becoming a mother has shown me about her and about a mother’s love. 

 

My mom was the first person I called besides my husband when I thought I was in labor.  I had been having contractions all day on Friday, but by lunch time they were getting stronger and closer together.  I still wasn’t sure if they were “real,” and I didn’t want Andy coming home from work when I might not be in true labor.  However, it also wasn’t much fun to sit by myself at home in pain and fearful about what was coming next, so I called my mom.  She immediately got in the car and drove to Charlotte, and I counted the minutes until she arrived even though I felt silly and needy for asking her to sit with me while I waited for the next contraction.  Nevertheless, I cannot describe the relief I felt when my mom walked in the door.  There is something about being with my mom that makes me feel safe and protected.  It is like she is a super power – able to fix anything that ails.  I don’t know how I never quite saw this before, but it is true.  In my head, I know she is no more able to fix my problems than anyone else, but she simply feels like home.  She sat in my living room until Andy got home from work, and we talked about our family and work and Daniel’s arrival.  It was the absolute perfect distraction and those pesky contractions that paused our conversation didn’t faze her.  She helped me time them and speculated when I might be ready to go to the hospital. 

 

The decision to go to the hospital didn’t happen as quickly as I hoped, and Andy and I didn’t end up there until 11:30pm on Friday night.  By 3:00am on Saturday, I had had an epidural and was expecting my sweet baby sometime that day.  Daniel took his time and didn’t arrive until 7:20 on Saturday night, and after I had pushed for 3.5 hours and had a suction delivery.  By the time he was born, I was exhausted, emotional, in pain, and more than anything craving sleep and time alone with my husband and new baby.  Andy called the waiting grandparents back to my room at about 10:30pm on Saturday, and I love that my mom took one look at my face and knew exactly what I needed.  My mom didn’t even glance at Daniel.  She came right to my side and whispered, “You aren’t doing well, are you?”  I shook my head and held back tears.  “We need to go don’t we?” she asked.  She had waited for 3-4 hours in Charlotte to meet Daniel thinking that my labor would progress quicker than it did, and she had an hour long drive home, but she knew what I needed and put my needs ahead of her own comfort and desires.  The action reminded me that my mom sees me in ways that no one else does.  It took her about two seconds to read my expression and to make the right decision for me.  I don’t think I could have loved her more in that moment if I had tried. 

 

Andy and I took Daniel home from the hospital on Monday, and on Wednesday, my recovery took a serious backward slide.  I have no idea what happened except that the nurse I called on Thursday morning while I sat crying in the bathtub told me that it was normal, happened to lots of women, and basically prescribed bed rest until I felt like I could walk again.  Andy was scheduled to go into work on Thursday, and my mom was planning to stay with Daniel and me.  Andy ended up staying home, but my mom still came so that he could work from home and she could take care of me.  Here is the thing about life right after having a baby – lots of people offer to come and help.  I have several sweet friends and an awesome mother-in-law who all offered to come by and take care of me or do my laundry or clean my house or basically whatever I needed, but what I realized this past week is that no matter how old you get, there are times when only your mom will do.  What I needed this past week in the middle of the pain and the out of control hormones and the sheer exhaustion was my mother.  I needed her to take care of me in ways that I’d never let anyone else do.  I needed her to give me perspective and calm and hope that things would get better soon.  This past week, before Mother’s Day, was an awesome reminder to my very independent, stubborn self, that I have not “outgrown” the need for my mom.  It showed me that a no matter how old I get and how deep our friendship becomes, at the end of the day, my mom is not only one of my best friends, she also occupies a space in my life that no other person could ever fill – the space called Mother.