Mushy Thoughts On Fear and Motherhood

Sometimes I think my heart may just explode. Like seriously thump right out of my chest from the intense waves of emotion that pulse through my soul when I look at this boy. I mean-- look at him.

Before I became a mother, I just couldn't see it. Couldn't picture it in my mind, or imagine what it would feel like. Sure, friends with kids always told me that there was "no feeling like it," and it would feel "different when it is your own." But I still didn't expect this. I didn't expect to be sitting at my laptop, in tears, not knowing what to do with all of these feelings.

We had a perfectly lovely morning. The truly best kind-- just him and me, marching around in our swimming pool with not a care in the world. He was in the best mood, and when we came back to our apartment, he ate all his lunch, and then went down for a nap without so much as a whimper of protest.

So why am I crying? Because it is all just so good. And that terrifies me. I'm a rookie mom, for sure, and at this point, we haven't dealt with much more pain and heartbreak than a busted lip and the ending of the pacifier era (which my dreamboat of a son hardly noticed). But I know it is coming.

The other day, Bo and Marty were playing on our bed, like they do almost every night. Bo lifts him up high over head and drops him down on a huge mound of pillows, strategically arranged to satisfy the highest of safety standards (mine). That kiddo is a real thrill seeker, I tell ya.

In response to being dropped from heights that must seem extreme to an almost-2-year-old, my son gets up and "pushes" his daddy off the bed. Bo may insert a bit of dramatic flair to this part of the routine. Round and round they go, dropping and pushing, dropping and pushing. It never seems to get old for either of them.

But that particular day, the timing was off by just a hair. Marty lunged to "push" his daddy off the edge of the bed before his daddy was in position to be pushed. The result was my baby boy pretty much catapulting himself over the side of the bed, and disappearing with a thud. I saw it happen. Before it happened, even. I knew, but couldn't stop it. As I watched him fly headfirst over the bed, not able to see the landing, I thought to myself, "he's paralyzed...his neck is broken..."

I ran over to him and looked down at his sweet, blue/red/green face, eyes and mouth open wide, but unable to make a sound. I scooped him up and blew in his face (because someone had once told me that this act makes them breathe. Wives tale? Whatever.), at which point he finally inhaled deeply and started screaming. He was fine. Scared, but fine.

I was able to hold it together long enough to make sure he was okay, but then I lost it. Tears flooded my eyes, and I felt sick. My mind refused to be still... it raced forward in time, without my permission, and imagined a day with a similar scenario, but a different outcome. Someday, it will be worse. Someday, he is going to feel real pain, and there will be nothing I can do to stop it.

These thoughts are not healthy, I know. Being afraid doesn't prevent the things you fear from happening. All it really does is prevent you from truly opening yourself up, as wide as you can go, and soaking up every last drop of these care-free moments life blesses us with. Oh how I pray that God will calm my mind, and allow me to trust in Him fully, not borrowing trouble, or letting fear steal one single second of joy from me and my boy...

But today, I find myself on the brink once again. Loving this little man-cub so hard that my mind spins to the things I can't control, but frighten me, nonetheless. Will my son get sick? Hurt? Heartbroken? Will he hate me one day? Will he have a proper length childhood, sustained by this gorgeous innocence I see in him today, even in a world where Miley Cyrus and her tongue are front page news? Will he ever really know his value, and how much he is loved?

I don't know the answers, but I do know Someone who does. And I know that God will be consistent and strong and gentle and wise, even when I am a blubbering mess worried about things "above my pay grade." Lord, take him, he's yours. You know what you are doing, and that is the only thing that gives me peace.

"So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous hand." Isaiah 41:10

"The accidental therablog" -or- "Perhaps the deepest thoughts you're ever gonna get out of me"

Just couldn't choose a title for this one... 

It took Bo and I eight years of marriage to talk ourselves into getting pregnant. We had relocated 11 times in those eight years, and we were not entirely sure that a child would respond well to our transient lifestyle. Many conversations were had, many scenarios were discussed, many pros-and-cons lists were made. Did I mention that we were smack in the middle of our three-and-a-half year stint in CHINA during all this?? Oh, the timing...

We ultimately decided to give it a go, figuring that no time would ever be the "perfect" time, and heck, I wasn't getting any younger. I got preggers so quick we couldn't have changed our minds if we had wanted to. And man-oh-man am I glad. Marty was born in Beijing, China on 9.10.11 and I wouldn't change a single detail about how things went down. (I want to write a post about his birth sometime soon).

My Chinese pregnancy test. Couldn't read a word of the instructions. Thank goodness pee sticks are fairly universal.

When I look back on my thought process before I had Marty, I realize how completely wrong I was about so many things. The main one being that having a baby would add more chaos and stress to a lifestyle that has both of those things in spades. But God gave us exactly the kid we needed, as He is known to do. Marty has, in fact, brought so much calm into our crazy life that I can't imagine how we survived without him to mellow us out.

Having him around caused me to slow down and simplify my routine, which resulted in me having less on my plate and fewer things to worry about. Becoming a mom has also made me less self-centered, translating into less time worrying about whether this or that is impressive to those around me,  be it the clothes I'm wearing, my relationship with my husband (how it appears to others anyway), or how many events I get invited to. Since Marty's birth, all I want every day is to impress this tiny little man, which makes me think about what qualities a child actually finds impressive. Does a 2-year-old care if I'm 6 months past the point of needing a haircut or pedicure? No. He looks to me for kindness, consistency, patience, and love.

>>Side note: I'm embarrassed to say that those qualities weren't necessarily tops on my priority list pre-Marty. My mind was once filled with so much anxiety, fed by a desire to be accepted and admired by my peers. Maybe it is just part of being young. I don't know. Does everyone wrestle with this at some point? I want to think that it is a typical part of personal growth (to make myself feel better?), but then again, I want to hope that not many others waste valuable years looking inward when there is so much to see out there.  When I think about how much time I spent worrying about what others thought of me, or if enough people liked me... well, it's just shameful, really. I'm not sure how nearly all of that evaporated with the arrival of my child, but it did somehow. And for whatever reason God saw fit to change my perspective, I'll accept that gift with gratitude.<<

Anyway, back on track... Isn't that brilliant?! Becoming a mother was like a chance to start over as a totally different person. A better, more authentic one this time. Someone who strives to display the characteristics I want to see develop in my child. Qualities that I'd want him to seek in a wife someday. In about 40 years.

It comes fairly easy in these early days, when your hero status is correlated to the number of blocks you can stack (and I can stack high!).  Nice that I get to eeeeeeaaaaasssssseee into this whole transformation thing. Whew! But everyday, I am aware of (and thankful for) those two little eyes that stay locked on me. Those little eyes that are making me want to do better, be better, every single day. I must admit, however, that if I let my mind settle for too long on the fact that I am raising a man... well I start to hyperventilate a little bit. Lord help me.

Mart-man has totally perfected the fist-bump and peek-a-boo. We are still working on closed mouth kisses, though...

Does anyone else feel that blogging is like really cheap therapy? Yeah me, too.

Moving on... Overnight, my baby has morphed into this toddler and is on his way to turning into a full fledged boy. I can hardly even type that without my heart tightening just a smidge. He is just so BIG. Independent like nobody's business. And his buddha belly is shrinking by the minute (which is downright sad).

So naturally, as more and more of the baby disappears, more and more people start asking about the next baby... sheesh. I guess we don't have another 9 years to mull this over (as a matter of fact, I always said I didn't want to get pregnant after I turned 35. That happens in like...5 months. Yikes.), so the conversations are starting once again. Pros and cons of just keeping it like it is. It seems pretty perfect at the moment, but that is what I thought when we had no kids. Decisions, decisions. Tick-tock, tick-tock.