A Baby's Desperation

Now that the Czar and Queen are out of state, I've been spending a lot more time with the Boy (yep, somehow there's more time to be spent together). During the first 2 years of our relationship, the Boy held on so stubbornly and anxiously to his time, his space, that we fought often about our individual readiness for a serious relationship. Was he ready to commit? Was I ready to let go of my imaginations of love?

There's always a part of me that remembers those times with a twinge of...regret fear unease. I wonder if maybe he'll get sick of me. I wonder if a few days in a row of seeing me will weary him. There are times when a small annoyance on my part will grow into worry that he's silently scheming on how to get more alone time (projecting, maybe?).

Last night, as we spent yet another hour chatting and watching Anthony Bourdain, he looked at me in a way that reassured me he's far from sick of me. Even as I try to keep my distance at times and leave him to his work, studies, or whatever it is he's doing, he'll approach me in a way that shows his longing for me. It surprised me that this morning that I was excited to see him again. It doesn't make a lot of sense to me, but as if we haven't seen each other in weeks, I can't wait to be near him again.

This past weekend, I babysat for friends, new parents of a 6-month old little girl. Normally, with her and other babies, I've got some magic touch (or extreme body heat, whatever). I'm a baby-monger, and this little one generally falls asleep or is exhausted with laughter when she sees me. No problem, right?

Wrong. She's experiencing some stranger anxiety, and I could not console her for the life of me. She was so genuinely distressed that I was not her mom. As I held her while she cried, slept, cried, slept, and cried some more for about 6 hours, it made me think of friends who are going through the adoption process... how they endure this for weeks at time as their children grieve the loss of their foster parents.

I thought about the weight of being a mother. Not that I have the slightest idea of what that really means yet, but I kept thinking of the deep and utter sadness this little girl felt that she could not see her mother. She looked everywhere for her, pushing my face away. I fed her, held her, sang to her, talked to her, but none of that mattered because I was not her mother.

And it hit me...as my arms burned and my lower back ached from carrying and bouncing little M...the weight of being a mother...the ability responsibility of having such an effect on another human being. This little baby was so desperate and lost without her mother, regardless of what I had to offer. Am I ready to be that mother?

I've always wanted to be a mother. I have dreams of pregnancy and motherhood. I imagined I would get married at 24 (I'm 29 now), and I would have children at 26. Obviously, I'm not pregnant or even married yet. But I'm more sure now that I'm not ready to give up this feeling of excitement for my evening, free to be with my soon-to-be husband, carefree and aimless. I still can't wait for motherhood, but being a wife is excitement enough for now.