The hardest job I’ve ever had
If someone had told me how hard being a mother would be, I mean if someone could’ve really helped me comprehend what it takes to raise another human being, especially knowing now that I would have to do it alone, I never would’ve done it. I may have just become abstinent for the rest of my life. Welllll let’s not get too crazy, making a baby is the best part, but I think you understand what I mean. And yet motherhood has definitely made me a better person, and stretched me in ways I never thought possible (figuratively and literally). If it hadn’t been for the power of praying grandparents, parents, and various other family members and friends, I never would’ve made it. In fact, I can remember the spirit of my great-grandmother coming to me in a dream, when I was pregnant with my son and didn’t know it yet, reassuring me that everything was going to be ok. I woke up crying, because it felt like she was really there. I could actually smell her, and feel her touching me in that dream. I didn’t know what she meant then, but I sure know now.
I had my physical challenges bringing my two children into the world. After pushing all day long with my second born, my daughter, someone finally realized that it was impossible for her to get her head down past my pelvic bone, so I had a C-section, which in turn got infected. Yes there is a funny story behind her birth too, but that’s a story for another time. And if you follow my blog, you already know the sitcom-like challenges I had bringing my son into this world. If not, you can read about the incredibly crazy yet completely true story here. But today I want to focus on the mental challenges of parenthood, I had no clue what I was in for.
The first glimpse I had of what was to come was probably as I was living in the hospital with my son, waiting for him to grow, gain weight, and get healthy enough so I could take him home. At this point, I had been joined at the hospital by my now ex-husband, and the staff was gracious enough to make arrangements for us to stay at the Fisher House during his short stay. It’s the military version of a Ronald McDonald House. Anyway, my ex, we’ll call him “Jim,” I think that’s the name I gave him in a previous post, he mentions to me that maybe we should get away from the hospital for a day. Rent a car, and just get away, for one day. And at first I was totally against the idea. My son was sick, I needed to be there, 24/7. But the more we talked about it, the more I started to agree with him. It was stressful and disheartening watching little babies lose their fight for life, and seeing the absolute pain of losing a child on parents faces week after week. All the while praying that my son would be one of those that made it. And it was touch and go for a while with him. At one point we literally watched him die, and watched as the hospital staff brought him back to life. Finally, after it seemed my son had stabilized and was gaining weight, I agreed with Jim that we should get away for a couple of hours.
We rented a car, I’ll never forget it was a 1994 Ford Festiva, otherwise known as a Death Trap, and decided to visit a safari wildlife park nearby. We’d barely left the rental place, got onto the on ramp for the expressway, and right there, in our lane, was a huge piece of metal. There was no place to go, left or right, and there were people barreling down behind us, so I had no choice but to try to navigate around it the best I could. I failed, and we got a flat tire. And I said to myself, please God, don’t let this be an indication of how the rest of this day is going to go. We can barely afford this, and if they don’t have any more of this size rental car, we may as well just go back to the hospital. And if they try to make us pay for the tire, we’re screwed. The situation worked out, we got another car, and spent the day at the wildlife park. And I thought Jim was right, it was good to just get away from it all for the day.
When we arrived back at the hospital, and went directly to the NICU (Neonatal Intensive Care Unit) to visit with our son, the head nurse came rushing over to us asking where we’d been. Our son had run into some trouble and was in desperate need of a blood transfusion. And no one could find us. Now keep in mind this is pre-cell phone days. It turns out he needed three transfusions, and neither one of his parents were available. That was my first rude introduction to weighing the options and trying to make the right decision when your child is involved. They were able to do the transfusions, and I don’t remember how they got around the legal ramifications, but they made it work. And I felt like a heel, and completely selfish, for trying to just get away from it all….for…..just…one….day. Not only that, I had to continually worry about whether or not the blood was screened well, and that my son wasn’t given blood tainted with HIV. Thankfully he was not, but we wouldn’t know that for sure for years to come.
And then there were the years between fourth and ninth grade where my son decided to lose his mind, and I received a phone call from the school nearly every day (and this is no exaggeration) about him not doing his work, or talking, or walking out of the classroom, sometimes asking if I could come pick him up. That’s a really high level description, but just know that I am not a passive parent (and best believe I know how to wield a belt), nor am I someone who thinks my child can do no wrong. Then there was the alternative (bad kid) school, and the time the school threatened to fail him, and I said go for it, because it will teach him there are consequences to your choices. They turned around and passed him anyway. EVEN THOUGH HE DIDN’T EARN THE GRADES (we all know he’s a smart kid, right?). Way to teach him a lesson guys.
I eventually had to ask my sister to take him in for a while, because I was either going to have a stroke from the stress of it all or literally choke him to death. I’m thankful that she did, because I think the stroke would’ve come first. I already have high blood pressure. I’m also incredibly thankful to my dad (for being the role model that my son needed) and my step mother, both of whom I called nearly every time the school called me, asking what am I doing wrong, what can I do differently/better, and how in the heck am I going to be able to keep a job if this doesn’t end soon. I couldn’t love you guys any more for being so supportive and patient with me. And as for my son, he’s a responsible, working, young adult now, whom I’m incredibly proud of. It really does take a village… And don’t get it twisted, my daughter is no angel. Remind me to tell you about the time I had to pick them up from the police station, because she told the after school care place that I beat them with a wire hanger….
So I say all of that to say this: if no one else tells you tomorrow, on Mother’s Day or any other day, I’m telling you now, thank you to all the mothers of the world. Thank you for all of your sacrifices that no one, especially your children, will ever know about. Thank you for taking the time and patience to try to raise your children right, to instill within them morals and values to help make our world a better place. And when I say mother, I mean a real mother, not someone who just has babies and drops them of at their mother’s house or wherever for someone else to raise. I mean the real mothers, the ones who pray for their children every day, who’ve shed enough tears to fill an entire ocean, worried about whether or not they’re getting it right, whether or not they made the right decision, or said the right thing. Mothers who’ve had no help from sperm donor fathers. Mothers who have gray hairs and still worry about their children even though they’re long grown and in some cases raising children of their own.
And for those of you who are disappointed in who your children have become as adults, please know that your efforts were not in vain. If your children are grown and act like they have no home training, don’t stress. As long as you know you’ve done the best you could, that’s all you can do. Our children are their own people, they have their own minds, and they make their own decisions. And they have to live with the consequences of those decisions. You were responsible for building the frame and the foundation, you can’t control what they put in the house.
Happy Mother’s Day to all the mothers (and the stand in/temporary/makeshift/play-play mothers), and the mothers who came before us who are long gone (and sorely missed),
Angela