This woman's work...

Tomorrow is my first real Mother's Day.
While most mothers will spend their days celebrated by their families - going to brunch, wearing handmade macaroni necklaces, proudly carrying the carnations handed to them at local businesses - I won't be joining them.

I'll be at work.

Since I work in a hospital setting, weekend coverage is a necessary evil. Our rotation is completely arbitrary, and so it is simply dumb luck that I should end up working on this, my first celebration of a holiday that was likely created by a greeting card company.

I'm not trying to be cynical.  It's just kind of fitting that I would be working tomorrow.

You see, we're allowed to take these weekend shifts off if we want.  We just have to use our vacation time.  We even get the following Friday off as if we actually worked it.  Unfortunately, the amount of paid time I have saved since maternity leave is meager at best.  And that dwindling supply is being eaten up by our vacation to the land of the tankini and The Incredible Hulk's upcoming surgery.  To use 8 of those precious saved hours just so I can stand in line at a crowded brunch buffet erected in my honor would be irresponsible at best.

So, it's off to work I go to do the thing I have grown accustomed to in the short while I've been a mother - sacrifice.


I am guilty of being selfish at times in my life, of that I am sure, but I really like to think that I am never that way when it comes to him.  In fact, I don't think I even question the things I have to do to make sure his needs are met before my own (and often instead of my own.)

To say motherhood has changed me would be the understatement of the century.
Despite months of reading and preparation, doctor's appointments and fulfilling nesting urges - I still walked out of the hospital with the baby and had not a clue about how to take care of him.  But somehow, we all survived it.

It's a strange thing, motherhood.  It's all about "coming from a place of yes," knowing and practicing "radical acceptance," not sweating the small stuff, and above all else - allowing yourself to enjoy each and every moment.  (That includes the ones at 3:30 am.  Yes.  Really.)

As I rocked TIH to sleep tonight, I looked down at him and just couldn't believe how different my life is today than it was a year ago.  How different I am.  I thought of how much I feared this change in my life and in myself.  How much I questioned if I was really ready.  But, looking down at that face, it just all went away.  I am so glad I am a mother.  I am so proud to be a part of these generations and generations of women before me who have lucky enough to be part of this unique club - motherhood.

We can't help but rise to each occasion our children call us to.
We hug, we sweep away tears, we wipe noses, and kiss foreheads to feel for fevers.
Our backs ache, our minds race, our hearts skip beats both out of fear and out of joy.  We laugh so hard we're crying and we cry so hard we're laughing.

And, it's the best.

It's true, I wasn't really "prepared" to become a mother when I became one (no one EVER is), but I rose to the occasion.  I made the sacrifices.  And I will continue to do so for the rest of my time on this earth.

So, I'm going to work tomorrow.  It's exactly what I want to be doing: providing a good life for my son.
But, when I get home - I'm totally making him snuggle with me for bit.

Happy Mother's Day to all of you out there.
Hope you get to spend your day doing exactly what you want to be doing.

When I grow up, I'll turn the tables...

As I've mentioned before, I spend an incredible amount of time in my car during the week.  My daily commute is 70 miles round trip.  But, I like the taxes and the safety and the rural quaintness of the suburban city we live in, so I'm willing to brave the whitetrash Bubbas at the Wal Mart and have pretty much accepted that I can't get home from work in less than 40 minutes.  Even in good traffic.  But, thanks to go-cups of coffee and Sirius radio (Live On Broadway - Sirius Channel 77, can I get a what, what?  No?  Just me?) I don't always despise my trips in the car.  Honestly, I've started to kind of revel in them.  80+ minutes of quiet alone time during all of which I am required to sit down?  Sign. Me. Up.

I find I'm not suddenly beside myself with rage if traffic backs up a little bit.  I just sip my beverage, settle in my seat a bit, and enjoy the OBC recording of Hairspray.

So, maybe that's why, in my showtunes and caffeine induced stupor, that I found myself on the highway being passed all over the place by cars. Because I was driving. On a Friday. Going 63 mph.  In the fast lane. 

On this particular interstate during rush hour on Friday, I'm lucky I didn't get shot.

Once I got out of my daze, I upped my speed to 70 mph.  10 over the posted speed limit.  Fast enough?

No.  Cars were still passing me all over the place and one began to tailgate me so closely, I'm pretty sure I  have a bit of the paint from his fender on my car.  Not to be defeated, I pressed the accelerator to 75 mph.

Cars still passing me.  Double middle fingers being thrown in my direction from the car behind me.

At this point, out of principle I refused to get over.  And upped my speed to 80 mph.  Immediately, I was scared as all get out and finally the car behind me got over and screeched past me.  I lowered my speed considerably and continued my journey home.  And then it struck me - when did I start traveling below 80 on the interstate?

It is with a large amount of shame and guilt that I tell you that it wasn't too long ago that I would have not only been going well over 80 mph, I was probably also talking on my phone, or worse - texting while driving. (I know, I know.  The thought of it makes me shudder.)  In fact, I was probably more like the guy in the car behind me, flipping people the double bird and saying some very un-Christian-like things to little old ladies cruising in the fast lane in their giant Buick Le Sabres.  And yet, somehow, either because of my steadily advancing age or the precious cargo I am so often toting with me, I am suddenly a more careful and responsible driver.

I gave up distraction in the car for Lent last year.  No phone usage (and if I had to talk on my phone, it was on the Bluetooth only), no loud music, no eating foods that required two hands at anytime.  But, even in doing that, I don't think I was consciously making the effort to become a safer driver in general. 

And yet, here I am, going 63 in the fast lane and thinking that it is an incredibly reasonable and safe speed.  Screaming un-Christian-like things to the people tailgating me.  Shaking my head at the recklessness of others.  Carefully passing people who look like they might be (gasp) texting and driving.  Constantly yelling at my husband (when he is in the driver seat and likely going the posted speed limit) to SLOWDOWNFORTHELOVEOFGOD.

I just feel so...old.
It's a welcome change.  And a surprising one at that.

You were only waiting for this moment to arise...

I guess I imagined that at 4:38 am on July 17 that I was going to be magically transformed.  And I was.  But not in the way that I thought.  It took a little bit longer for that "light bulb" moment to happen when I could say:  This is it.  I'm a mommy.

Up until today, I was pretty sure it happened one night when our monitor stopped working unbeknownst to either of us.  Our monitor is one of those voice-activated ones that has both lights and sound.  Except one night, for some reason, the sound just stopped working.  And my husband and I slept and slept.  It wasn't until almost 4:00 am, that I turned to check the time and thought to myself "He's sleeping through the night at 1 month old! HE IS THE BEST BABY.  EVER."  And then reality set in when I saw that those little LED lights on the monitor were lit up a bright angry red and I could suddenly hear the cries of our tiny boy emanating from his room.  I jumped out of our bed cursing up a storm muttering incoherently about the faulty monitor and ran into his room.  And the instant I picked him up, he quieted.  All he wanted was me.

And I thought: This is it.  I'm a mommy.

But today, in slightly terrifying moment, I think it really happened.

I don't have to work today so my husband and I both got to sleep a little later and not have to wake up my precious little guy from his beautiful slumber.

We both got completely ready for our days and my husband retreated to his home office in our basement. As I made my way downstairs to get my coffee, I peeked into his room and saw his beautiful blue eyes open, shining, and happy to see me.  We went about our morning routine: diaper change, reflux medicine...and the whole time he was smiling at me in the sweetest way.  As I sat down to feed him, I changed my mind and decided to bring him downstairs to share his sweet little good mood with his daddy.   I don't think I was going too fast.  Not even taking my signature two-steps-at-a-time.   But, before I even knew what was happening, my bare feet had slipped out from under me on our carpeted steps and I fell.  Down only four steps on to our carpeted landing.  But I fell.  And I fell holding my sweet little baby.

You hear about those women who pull cars off of their babies in a moment of sheer panic.  I couldn't stop our fall, but I squeezed him tightly to my chest in a way that defied all time and somehow managed to keep him safe in my arms as I landed solidly on my butt.  I can tell you the sound of it all must have been terrible, the way my husband raced out of the basement to find us.  There was one moment of silence.  Two.  And then this horrible cry came out of my sweet baby who almost never cries.  I handed him to my husband so I could stand up and he held him tightly and asked me several times "Are you okay?  Are you okay?" While I asked him several times "Is he okay?  Is he okay?"

The baby was fine.  Just scared.  And crying.

Back on my feet, my husband pulled me in to hug me and I said "Can I have him?  I want to hold him."  And then it happened.  My baby reached for me.  All he wanted was me.

My husband pulled both of us in for a bear hug and our little guy's cries turned into little whimpers and then eventually adorable little laughs and smiles.

After what happened today, I'm sure I'll take steps more carefully than ever.  I'll clear piles of bills and shoes off the steps to make sure there's nothing that could trip us.  I might even think twice the next time I take him down to the basement.

But most importantly, I will never forget the moment when I squeezed that little body to mine as we took that terrifying spill and I thought: This is it.  I'm a mommy.