I am so tired. The pillow is eyeing me from across the room, its cotton candy goodness, a soft place to lay my head. The bed is demanding, its layers of sheets perfect in its folds, like layered Kleenex in a tissue box. I can’t though, not yet. I’ve got responsibilities. There is a little one, yelling, “Momma!,” Actually she is screaming “Momma!” And then the questions begin, one after another, “Momma, can we go to the park today?” , “Momma, can you paint my fingernails?”, “Momma, is it time to go to bed yet?” She dispenses questions, like she is a Pez candy dispenser, and I can’t keep up. Half of the time, I am answering yes, or no, because I haven’t even heard the question. In between the questions, are the intermittent statements that begin with Momma and the demands to watch, help, feed, bathe and with grace, placate. I am always on the escalator looking for my opportunity to hop off, but I can’t, because the moving steps never stop at my destination.
Sometimes I want to stop. I want to stop so bad and taste freedom. The freedom of noisy things, watching television in the middle of the night, going to the bookstore whenever I feel like it, or perusing through the aisles of my favorite store. What I crave the most, what I really want to do is feel the taste of freedom in quiet things, sleeping in late, taking an uninterrupted shower, or reading in bed. It is not my escalator, though, and I can’t stop, because she has other things that she wants to do. She doesn’t care about the old me. She wants the Momma-me, all the time, because to her I am her living, breathing heaven.
As much as freedom smells good, as much as it whispers to me to come back to it, I won’t. The truth is I could have come to a firm stop on the escalator. I could have stopped at my destination a long time ago and I chose to move beyond something besides myself. I wanted to experience, in its purest form, a love that was so unconditional, that for your child, you do become God, because at this tender young age, they know nothing else. I look at her, curled up, in my lap, her eyes closed, she grasps on my back, like we are floating in an ocean, and for her, if she lets go, she will become lost forever. She won’t take that risk, though, because she won’t let go, even when I try to put her in a more comfortable position, thinking that she will sleep better if she has more space. The only place she wants to occupy is mine.
My own eyes feel heavy, almost as if steel columns are teetering on my lids, but I force myself to wake up, kissing her cheek, feeling her breath, the comfort of her sleeping. I am tired, but the moment I close my eyes, she awakes, and says “I love you Momma,” and falls back asleep. I tell her, “I love you,too.” The escalator has stopped. This is my destination.
Welcome! I am a lawyer turned freelance writer, essayist, and editor. On staff at Literary Mama and the co-founder and co-editor of the literary journal, The Sunlight Press, my essays and reported work have appeared in The Washington Post, The Lily, Saveur, Civil Eats, Brain, Child, ESPN and elsewhere. I am currently at work on a memoir on grief and culture and how it provides perspective on life’s ordinary graces. I invite you to appreciate the ordinary with me. I hope my daily practice of seeing the magic in the mundane helps you celebrate and find more of these moments in your life too.
Beautifully written.
Thanks Naseem.
This post is so beautiful. I am only seven weeks into motherhood and yet I know precisely the juxtaposition of emotions you describe. Remembering the ‘old days’ and missing them, yet not being willing to trade the new normal for anything. I’m finding that there’s just so much MORE to life with children in it. More sleepless nights and more challenges, for sure. But also more love, more joy, more richness. More life.
You are so right Lauren. The early weeks are so precious and you are so in love with your little one. You miss the freedom, but in my mind, nothing can beat your adoration for your child. Thanks for stopping by.
so lovely…so touching.
thank you, ru.
Thanks so much Shereen.
love it…
Thanks D!
Words I wasn’t sure I would say…this post “makes me want to become a mother.” Not just “be” a mother, but truly “become” one. Like you.
Thank you.
Wow, what a nice thing to say to your older sister. You will be just as amazed when you become a mother!
This described my morning perfectly. I was just so tired today for some reason, and I wanted so badly to just go back to bed. But I looked at my two beautiful girls and made some coffee instead. It can be so challenging, but I would never trade it for the world. Thanks for another beautiful post. It helped give me a second wind … along with the coffee 🙂
Thanks Kathy for stopping by. I am glad my words, along with your coffee, re-energized you. I wouldn’t trade it either!
Rest assured, there does come a day when you can go to the bathroom by yourself, you may actually be able to score some sleep, and you will be able to complete a sentence.
Then, just when you sit down to type a blog entry, your 22 year old daughter (who no longer even lives with you) will open the door, walk to the couch and commence sobbing. SIGH. . .
And so it goes.
Sounds like the escalator moves through your life and theirs and their need for you never stops no matter how old they get. Thanks for stopping by. I will do the same with yours!
Beautiful.
Moms like us know this so well: “The only place she wants to occupy is mine.” As much as I love it, I sometimes crave a space that’s all mine. And when I get it, it feels so empty.
BTW, I found you through Aidan. She also linked to me in her post today.
Belinda,
Thanks for dropping a comment. It seems as when we get our space, we worry about how they are faring without us.
Welcome to my world – hope you keep reading.
The moving staircase is my favorite post so far. So descriptive and beautifully written, I felt like I was standing right next to you. And it made me cry!
Renny,
Glad you liked the post. As mothers, we all experience this emotion and so I am glad you were able to relate. Thanks for the comment.
I do not know whether I should comment or not. But here goes… I know the word Freedom does not exist anymore. I am going to give you a Dad’s perspective. No longer you can plan romantic getaways, there are THREE people dancing to a slow romantic number, ‘US’ time is after 8.30 pm (when ur eyes are already in ur pajamas), alcohol becomes ‘medicine’, and your answering each and every question thrown at you, no matter how many times you have answered it.
I love picking up my daughter from school. When she see’s me, she changes. She develops that attitude, snubbing other kids and proudly declaring, My Daddy is here!!! (she lets a couple of girls know “He is my dad and not yours!!!”).
I think as Dads and Moms, we no longer belong to each other… but to our kids. I am over 30, but I still feel that my Mom is always there for me (Obviously after my wife!!!). By the way she always takes the Elevator!!!! (She is scared of escalators…)
Loved hearing your perspective Vinay. Our little one does the same thing when she sees her Daddy. Funny how they get so possessive at such an early age. I loved all of your analogies – maybe you should try your hand at some writing.
Aidan,
Thanks for the plug. I appreciate it!