Momhood Is Such A Gift- Too Bad The World Doesn't Have A Mom

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My momhood kicked into gear as I watched The Tonight Show one night in 1999. I’d been a simple landlord to that point, renting my body out to a growing fetus — nothing too demanding, aside from extreme nausea. During a commercial break in the show, I stood up to go to the bathroom, and liquid trickled down my leg. Uh-oh. I wasn’t sure, but I suspected, and indeed, yes — my “water broke.” In technical terms, my amniotic sac burst a hole, and the amniotic fluid was dribbling out. This is what happens as you’re about to go into labor, but it’s not what you want to happen 7+ weeks before you’re due.

I stayed in the hospital for over a week, perpetually prone, trying to stave off labor. One day, though, it officially began. A baby was born. I was a mom. It was a mind-blowing moment. If there is a focal meaning in life for me, it’s being a mom. That sounds so evolutionary, doesn’t it? But I guess it works for me. I’m into Darwin.

From that baby, there came another — now two boys — my greatest joys. We’re friends, too. It’s been a beautiful, scenic ride. I know we’ve been lucky, but we’ve also gone the love route, choosing love and support over fear and pressure. Not only does this make for a good life together, but it’s a gift of time well spent.

The three of us have developed a little bit of a tradition over the last several years for Mother’s Day. We go for a walk, have a meal, and play Bananagrams — my favorite game. The walk is just mom and sons. My husband joins for the rest. This year, I chose a walk at the Manassas National Battlefield Park, a nearby park that marks a Civil War battle with lots of trail options for walking. The day was lovely. There was a forest-lined trail, full sun, a slight breeze, and plenty of people thinking the same thing.

As I passed others walking the opposite way, we’d say, “Happy Mother’s Day,” to each other if it looked like the greeting fit. It seemed we weren’t the only ones with the idea of a trail walk on Mother’s Day.

And then the nostalgia came. I’d see small kids doing their zany, wacky character acting. I’d see pre-teens with bored faces or engaged chattiness. I’d see teens and college-aged walkers conversing with their parents like the adults they were tilting toward. It brought up memories of how it was for me as a mom, and I was hit repeatedly with a sense of the passing of time. I’m moving towards old now, and I don’t mind saying that.

On the walk, my two sons and I would toggle back and forth — all three together, or two together with one ahead, or single-file. I got quality time with each, and that’s the point of a walk — it encourages quiet as much as discussion. I liked it when the three of us walked side by side and talked about something as a group — in nature, under the sunny sky, mom and sons. It was the best. It was unity.

But unity was not the point of the well-maintained trails where we walked. Those trails wound through a piece of land that honored two battles of our country’s Civil War. I’ve run many miles on those trails over the years, and have never once not been aware of the fact of that park. It’s a sad fact. It’s not happy like my walk with my sons this past Sunday.

For me, the saddest fact of that war was the siblings who went to battle against each other. When I learned about that in my youth, I remember being stunned. How could that have been? It seemed unimaginable — family split to such a degree over nonfamilial things. Family first, I always say.

But I know that’s not always how it is. And because of this, I continue to try to mentor those long-ago fetuses who’ve turned into software engineers. I see how things are out there. I know it’d be easy for our family to fracture, like it would for any family. The brain is so susceptible to suggestive, persuasive, vehement messaging, especially when bombarded with it every day, all day.

So, I talk openly about the brain, to the extent that I understand, but also using basic logic. None of that vehement messaging will stand by any one of our sides when we need it most. None of that messaging will love us like a loved one will. This is obvious stuff if we shift our eyes to see it.

I tell my kids that no matter your position on things or your beliefs, the most important thing is to remain a truly connected family. They agree. They’re smart. I trust their wisdom. But once a mother, always a mother, so I gently keep the conversation open just a crack, revisiting every year or so, typically by way of a few sentences, guided by feel. This is because when it comes to mothering, I operate on instinct.

Too bad countries or societies don’t have mothers. That might be helpful. The mother would have to be a loving and supportive one. Societies already know how to be fear-stricken. She’d have to be wise and guide her giant child away from greed — teach it how to share. She’d have to show the enormous sovereign-baby better options when emotion swoops down and strangles. She’d need to teach fairness, acceptance, and probably a lot of math. There’s always a need for math. She’d tell the endless-pronged country-child that other societies might want to demolish it, so be prepared, but do so for self-preservation, not for invasive purposes.

You’re probably thinking, Stephanie, this is daft and would never work — and I know you’re right. I embrace naiveté. This is why I stick with mothering two boys-turned-men. I figure I’ll do what I can to send them out into that fear-stricken world and influence it in a positive way. Wouldn’t I be an award-winning mom if that happened? Despite the daftness?

There’s not much to do anymore in my role as human shaper, as the job has a time limit, but it also never ends, and I’m grateful for that. I hope there are years ahead of walking on the second Sunday of May. My kids are my greatest joy. I want to keep beating them at Bananagrams, too.

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Have a lovely week, friends.