Mother's Day Musings

I was washing and skinning chicken breasts and legs a littlewhile ago while pondering how much motherhood really changes a person.

Not only motherhood, but family life in general. You know, getting married, having a baby, and somehow managing to keep your family happy, healthy and safe while keeping yourself sane... It’s amazing how things change when the center of your entire world changes. That change is instant, even if it takes a while to realize it.

For example, as I was standing over the sink earlier, trimming away fat and skin from those pieces of dead chicken and depositing into the garbage disposal, I remembered what life was like a few years ago when it was all about ME. Me, me, me.

I had radical views on life and I thought that it was my duty to enforce those beliefs on everyone around me, regardless of whether or not I knew them. “Meat is murder!” was one of my popular mantras. Who’d thought I’d be standing over a sink, elbow deep in raw chicken which I prepping for a B-B-Q chicken dinner for my daughter and husband. Furthermore, who’d have thought that I would have been on www.Ringling.com the night before trying to see if the circus would be coming to town this summer so that I could take Bella to see the clowns and– GASP – animals?

I mean, really ... didn’t I let a PETA rep strip me down to a pair of black panties, paint me up like a tiger and stick me in a cage in freezing January rain to protest Ringling Brothers just a mere four years ago? It’s 2005 now and who cares what animal died in order for my child to have a wholesome meal or medicines and vaccines when she needs them? And if it means that my child is bathing with a safe soap and being slathered with a safe lotion afterwards, then I will gladly tell Johnson &Johnson to “bring on the tester bunnies!”

If she will smile and laugh and have a memorable time, I will gladly direct her attention to the center ring. (Sure, I still cringe when I see someone wearing fur or over hear a zealous hunter bragging about his latest 10-pointer, but I have too much to worry about already. I don’t have time to go on a youthful crusade that is doomed to failure before its start just to prove that I can be a radical.)

And who would’ve thought that I would be gung-ho on getting Bella baptized and raised in the faith or that I would have a pro-life sticker on my bumper?

Nothing is about me anymore. It’s all about Bella and having a great family life for her. I now clean up bodily fluids without thinking about it or taking time to realize how bad that stench in the air might be. (Oh, the amount of poop, pee, snot, and regurgitation I’ve come in direct contact with over the past 20 months!) And I have lost count of the times I’ve gone out in public with a spaghetti hand print on my jeans, fresh breast milk stains on my shirt and/or a knot of some foreign goo in my hair.

Oh, and there was that incident the other day in the grocery store when Bella gleefully pointed her finger high in the air and yelled “booger!” She was proud of what she’d found and the onlookers got a good laugh as I grabbed a box of Kleenex that I had no intention of buying before then, ripped it open and wiped the gooey green thing off her finger while saying, “Icky, Bella. Icky!” At least she didn’t attempt to pull one of my boobs out of my shirt. (Yes, breast-fed babies will try to get a boob when they are hungry . . . no matter where you might happen to be. I learned the hard way NOT to wear tank tops in public.)

In the car, Eminem CDs have been tossed out and replaced by the “Dora the Explorer” soundtrack. My trusty make-up bag has been replaced with toys and I now obey the speed limit.(I do keep an Edwin McCain CD in the car for those rare alone trips, though!)

“Oh, look at that shirt! It’d look so good on me!” has been replaced with “Oh, look at that cute little outfit! Bella will be so adorable in it! And she’ll love this toy!” The last time that I bought something for me was back in December when I bought a $6 cotton shirt from Wal-Mart. And that was only because I needed a shirt without a stain on it.

I am not perfect, though, by any means. I have to keep my temper in check all of the time. How long can you be screamed at before you lose it? Especially at 2 a.m. in the morning when you are dead tired and your toddler isn’t. Or when the child knowingly pours juice on the floor just to see it splash or wipes her cereal all over the coffee table? Oh, and then there is the constant toilet flushing when she sneaks into the bathroom. Since Andy and I have decided not to spank (hitting to get a point across just doesn’t seem to make sense) I have to take LOTS of deep breaths each day.

I have lost my cool more than once and yelled at Bella. But I felt so terrible about it later that I apologized over and over while showering her with hugs. Poor kid...

And then there is Andy. My poor, semi-neglected husband who has willingly taken a back seat to this spunky little girl that demands all of her mommy’s attention. He is the sole breadwinner since I have returned to school. He keeps a roof over our heads, food on the table and money in the bank so that we can do things as a family. He gives Bella her bath each night, cleans just as much poop as I do, takes out the garbage and never says a word about it in the form of a complaint.

(But he will have his day next month, so enough about him, LOL.)

I guess motherhood is just another maturation stage that women must experience in this thing called growing up. We forget the vain things on which we once centered our lives, the causes that were so damned important, and our self-centered points-of-view.

Make-up is only for special occasions, the house is never clean, eating out is a rarity, sex and sleep are in short supply, money is generally tight and most of your close friends are goo-covered parents, too. (Childless friends generally don't understand the fuss over the fact that little Bella went pee-pee in the potty or that she said "I wuv you, mommy" the other night. And they certainly don't understand why you can get so excited over getting a 30-minute, uninterrupted shower.) So, it is no surprise that my Mother’s Day cards are still in their Hallmark packaging instead of in the mail on the way to all of the special mothers out there.

Motherhood is a sacred thing. Frustrating, but so very special.I wouldn’t trade places with any of those cute, single girls out there for anything. (Although, I do wish that I could trade my mommy boobs for a set of perky ones sometimes...)

Anyway, pamper yourselves this Sunday. But also remember to give your babies AND your husband hugs and kisses because without them we wouldn’t be in this wonderful stage of life right now!

SPAGHETTI HUGS & SLOPPY KISSES TO YOU ALL!