Do Not Go Gently into Motherhood

M. and I were in the dank, dark hole they call the Mothers Room at Babies-R-Us and across from us was a mother of an EIGHT DAY OLD baby. I can barely remember when Finn was eight days old, except having this vague perpetually stoned feeling all the time. We started talking, because I love to talk to the other mothers in the Mothers Room. The woman rolled her eyes and exclaimed that her baby was nursing AGAIN...the second time since they'd arrived in the store. She told her tiny baby daughter that it was time for them to move on and go get their pictures done. Did her baby care? Nope. She was going to continue comfort sucking despite her mother's wishes.

I looked at the mom and thought..."Sister, you haven't accepted your fate."

For me, there was a moment which I can't pinpoint through the bleary eyed sleep deprivation when I simply accepted my fate. My life was no longer my own. My breasts were no longer my own. 36 years ago when egg and sperm combined, my cells started dividing until they formed a human being who would exist in this world for one reason, and one reason only...

To love and care for my boy.

Accepting this is what kept me sane. It was what made me fall in love with my son. Our time became his time. This happened with the knowledge that we will someday reach a balance, a point where we're not having to give as much and he's not needing to take in order to survive. But right now M. and I exist for our boy.

This woman in the mothers room hadn't reached this point yet. She was still fighting motherhood. She thought she still had a say in the situation. After all, aren't we the ones with developed brains and life experience? Shouldn't we be the ones running the show?

It seems that way, but it's not.