Motherhood.

For the last couple of weeks, I've been batting around the idea of motherhood. I'm not announcing a pregnancy or anything- we're not there yet, but I've been chewing on that concept of motherhood. It's such an interesting thing--- you actually create a person and then assume responsibility for it's well-being. You teach it everything--- all things that fall outside the realm of instinctual. It's an amazing feat and I continue to fail at wrapping my brain around the possibility.

But, the reason for this post is that I'm just one person in this grand network of mothers and children. I am minute and my own concerns or excitement are not unique to me. I am simply the next generation of women to explore the prospect of motherhood.

The man and I have talked quite a bit about babies in our short little marriage. He's quite enthusiastic--- He's ready to make a baby and raise it up. He's ready for a family and ready to be a Dad. I fall a little more in love with him every time he says it because his passion for family life is something that I've always seen in him, even when he was making an utter fool of himself drinking to oblivion (oh how I miss college!). In fact, his family values are the third biggest reason that I married him.

You see, I have this superhuman ability to read people. I can tell who is pretending to be an asshole and who's pretending not to be one. And I can mentally sift through all the macho man (big man on campus, in his case) attitude to discover those exact things that you're hoping I can't see. I've done it for so long and it's served me very well. You can't fool me, no one ever has. I've never been heartbroken or stumped by friends. I've always been able to understand their innermost feelings, even when they're not even sure of what they're feeling. the only other person I've ever known to do this is my mom. But, she claims it's a gift she only has for her children. I can call her and pretend to feel one way about any issue and she wastes no time in calling me on my bullshit. She says that it has something to do with carrying in your womb and raising children from day 1. She says there's no one I could hide my true feelings from her-- I've stopped trying.


Whereas I have no children, save the four legged, furry ones that I love so much, this isn't a gift that has come from motherhood. I've always had it-- and now that I think about it, I've always mothered. As the eldest daughter in a family of five, a combination of factors put me in the "mini-mom" position from very early in my life. I have three little sisters, who are very much like dolls to a young girl, and two parents who had to work quite a bit to support this large and in charge brood. Therefore, by the time my youngest sister was born in 1995, I was a 10 year old mini-mom. I changed more diapers than did my father and was giving bottles like a champ. By the time I was in high school, I was getting home from practice after school, preparing dinner and providing rides to girl scouts or birthday parties, making sure homework was done and teeth brushed, reading bedtime stories and singing lullabyes to soothe little ones to sleep. And then, only then, completing my homework and chatting with friends about our highly dramatic days.

Don't confuse my tone, I knew nothing else when I was growing up. I enjoyed my childhood and always felt as though I had as much fun, if not more, than all my friends. But, I've mothered since I was very young. My mom and I often think back on the "olden days" and remember things together like when Patty had chicken pox or when Maggie and Katie would refuse to get dressed after their evening baths and read stories to one another. It's in me and it always has been.

Even in looking through a box of old memories that my mom had found (and pulled out for me to take to my own house to store away for another 5 years and beyond) I found an award I got my Junior year of High School from the coaches on my lacrosse team. I was awarded "The Team Mom Award." I kept everyone together and solved the disputes while making no enemies of my own.

And then I met the man and I mother him as well. And the funny thing is, he doesn't really mind it. I don't follow him around telling him to clean his room, mind you, but I remind him of things and make him cookies and he seems to really like the love that I give him. That's a good thing, I guess.

...And all of this is brought up because I am acutely aware of all things motherhood now-a-days. I see little Bambis all over the place as I'm driving around the county and I stumble upon "A Baby Story" on TLC when I've exhausted everything saved on our DVR. And, more importantly, I hit the "Next Blog" button at the top of the blogspot page and I come across real couples with real families that chronicle their trials and tribulations of parenthood. I've come across a couple who have been going through the adoption process for 2 years after learning of their infertility. I've read a blog of a couple who just lost their little boy after 16 months of struggle with his many health problems. I continue to be reminded of the joy and pain-- the miracle of motherhood and childbirth-- and how some people may never give birth to a baby despite their desire to do so. And how nothing is ever a sure thing.

I spend so much time counting months and planning out how I'd like my life to look, but the fact of the matter is, what's the fun in planning? I said that the man's desire for a family is the 3rd biggest reason I married him. Well, the first is the way he loves me-- including the amount of love he showers on me daily--- but, the second reason I married him is his ability to jump right in with both feet. He is not a planner, not an over-analyzer, like me. He decides what he wants and he goes for it... with very little regard for outcome or consequences. Dangerous, yes. But, with our powers combined-- we are a strong, loving, logical, free-spirited, parenthood team. So, maybe we'll dive right in and let the fates decide when we'll be lucky enough to bring a little one into the world.

I think life is feeling a little too calm, I'm ready for some chaos-- cheers.

Summer is over

and school has begun.

Not for me, mind you. I'm not in school. It's those dang kids. Kids in "the county" gathered their three-ring binders and brand new mechanical pencils and boarded buses this morning to make that bitter-sweet trek back to school. I am happy that they're going back, because now I'll see far fewer children around my neighborhood all day, everyday and I won't have to fight mobs to get down the aisles of Target during my lunch break when all I want to do is buy mascara and forget that I have to go back to work.

But, it's the end of summer for me as well because I can no longer roll out of bed at 7:15, shower and walk out the door at 7:45 to arrive at work right on time or 2 minutes early. You see, because I drive past 3 high schools that begin their classes right around the time I begin my work day, I have to leave significantly earlier during the school year to avoid the "rookie driver" masses. So, in this, I am a kindred spirit to all those grade school kids.

Only, I didn't get three months to renew my energy for the school year. I knew I liked being a kid for some reason.

Excuses, Excuses...

I read a Newsweek article last night as I was watching the man cook dinner that was very interesting to me, but simultaneously annoying. Ever feel this way-- "Hmm, that's interesting, but it really pisses me off..."

It was "But I Did Everything Right!" by Sharon Begley. She outlines that there is now a new explanation as to why some kids "get it" and some don't. You see, there is some gene variant that influences whether or not your child is fussy or mellow-- that same gene, you guessed it, determines whether or not your kid cares about what you, as a parent, say or fails to do so. You see, kids that are fussy as babies are more in tune with their surroundings and therefore are more likely to respond to parenting. Those babies that are mellow and very easy-going are more... oblivious, let's say, to their surroundings and therefore are less likely to be responsive to dear ole Mom and Dad when they parent-- i.e. tell them to clean their room, encourage them to stay in school, advise them not to do drugs, and scold them for beating their siblings with the building blocks.

The explaination is all fine and dandy-- suprisingly clear (to this anti-scientific brain) and even quite interesting that these things are ingrained in our DNA. But, my question is-- Who does this make the better excuse for, parents or their children?

Yes, these things may be related to our genetics. Yes, things like ADHD and LDs do exist and yes, they do have major impacts on the lives and learning of young people all over the world. But, do we have to continue to come up with reasons why some people end up CEOs and part of the yupper echelon while others end up dropping out of school at a young age and rebellious to the point of self-destruction? This article suggests that this gene can protect children from bad parenting and give solace to parents facing bad children. This new research allows parents and children alike to say, "It's OK, it's just the genes."

Parents that are dreadful at fostering and teaching their little ones can lie back and feel comforted that because their child was mellow from birth-- didn't cry, slept through the night from day one, let anyone hold them, and skipped off to the first day of pre-school with no separation anxiety-- that their parenting will not make one bit of difference in whether or not little Jimmy becomes an M.D. or robs a bank at 18. And little Jimmy can feel comforted that because he was a super chill baby, that he can be chill for all his days and never work for a single thing in his life, for which he will never be held accountable.

So, parents who have had to deal with colic, crying, anxiety, and overall worry about fussy little Johnny, go on to be the best damn parents they're equipped to be. And, Johnny who unknowingly put his parents through hell for years, works his butt off to be the best football player he can be and get into that great school and succeed in the world however he sees fit. And, as a result of this new research, Little Johnny and his parents can't take any credit for this hard work and perserverence because Johnny was just blessed with the genes to actually care about what his parents were saying to him.

And if we make a little switch-a-roo and place Johnny with Jimmy's parents, and vice versa, everything would come out just the same in the end. Johnny will become a brain surgeon who moonlights on the Olympic Volleyball team and Jimmy will loaf around his parents beach house until his untimely death at 45 in a freak gasoline fight accident. And it will be neither a credit to nor a fault of any party involved.

This new research allows an explanation, an excuse, even, for sloppy, pitiful parenting and kids who could not care less about the effort their parents put forth. All the while, taking the credit due from wonderful parents and kids who work hard.

Maybe I've got parenting on the brain or I'm reflecting on my own hard work to this point in my life-- or maybe I'm just tired of excuses. Do your best, or your worst, but recognize that either best or worst, it's yours.

thus...

it begins.

My motivation for blogging is not because I feel I have something of importance to say, but because I want to share in the experience and explore others thoughts... because maybe they do have something of importance to share.

cheers.