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When is that special moment when you realize you're a Mom? What a loaded question. And a good one. My oldest son's 5th birthday is around the corner. I've had a million "OMG, I'm a Mom!" moments in those (nearly) 5 years. My youngest just had his 2nd birthday recently. He gave me a few thousand more.
But what was my first? That's fuzzy for me.
Was it the first time I tearfully excepted that despite my well intentioned, carefully organized plans before he was born of how things were going to go this tiny little bundle of joy was the atomic bomb that blew them up and replaced them wtih reality? Was it the acceptance that despite my assertion that it would be a vaginal birth I would in fact have to go to a c-section because he couldn't come out any other way? Was it the belief that breast was best, so he would never get formula, only to discover my body was in mutiny mode and would never produce enough for his tiny frame, so he had to be supplemented with formula? No, those were my first lessons of motherhood: Make plans and do your best, but go with the flow if those plans don't work out and try something new til you figure out what works. But that's not what made me a Mom.
Night terrors made me a Mom.
And gave me gray hairs. My oldest started them earlier than many kids. And they froze my blood. He awoke suddenly screaming like he was being whipped and tortured. It was blood curdling. We frantically searched for what could be causing his pain, but there was nothing. Finally we realized what was happening, but didn't know what to do. That first night I wasn't a Mom. I was an incompetent job applicant. A failure. I researched night terrors, talked to the pediatrician, talked to other Mom's. The second one didn't come til months later, but was no easier. By the 3rd, though, I noticed the pattern leading to them. And I learned what to do. A little light in the room to pull him out of sleep slowly. Pacing back and forth. And singing. Not just any song, oh no. He was picky. "Hush little Baby" over and over and over again, softly. Once quiet, a drink of warm milk, the favorite teddy, and some rocking til he was deep asleep again. That was the magic formula. By the 4th time, we had it down.
I did it. I soothed him. Daddy couldn't do it. Grandma couldn't do it. It only worked when Mom did it. And I was Mom. He was scared, and only my shoulder, my voice, my touch would help. I felt full for the first time. I felt like I had this. I wasn't perfect, I was winging it like everyone else. But I was a Mom, and I finally learned to start trusting my instincts. What a liberating, freeing, terrifying feeling. I was Mom.
He reinforced this feeling with every snuggle, every smile, every tear afterward. The first time he had the flu he would be confused and scared when he'd feel the vomit coming, and run to me for comfort before erupting onto me. He was 18 mo's that first flu (I know, we got so lucky that first year and a half!). Mom welcomed him with open arms every time, knowing that the fresh clothes I'd changed into after the last time would go into the tub with the others (by the end of the night, I had no clean clothes left!). But I was Mom. Mom's catch puke. That's what we do.
Then came baby boy #2. I had this. I was now a veteran of nearly 3 years. I'd done it all, right? Nursing came easily the second time. My body had been disciplined into submission. Sleep was fleating, but he was his own person. He wasn't his brother. We'd figure it out. I had a Mom's instincts.
I was wrong. Again. NOTHING, would work the same.
His personality, and needs, and challenges, were so different. He was amazingly stubborn from conception. I sensed it when still pregnant. My oldest could be shifted if his position was uncomfortable. Not this one. Oh no. I nearly vomited on my boss when during a conversation my youngest rolled suddenly without warning onto my stomach and instantly pushed all contents up and out. I went from feeling good to vomiting in 1 sec. flat. A record. He was born the day of
