By Surprise

Today as I was racing down to pick Phoebe up from ballet, I heard a song by Regina Spector.  In it, she  says something about graffiti-ing up their babies toys and being a super cool parent.  I smiled and thought of all the super cool friends/family we have who do things like that with their kids (not graffiti up the toys--ick, toxic!) and what fun and deliberate parents they are.  For years they think about how their little son or daughter will be, what great clothes they'll buy for them and what fun books they'll read to them, trips they'll take them on, and how they're going to deal with . . . THEM.

Yeah, I'm not like that.

I was never like that.

I never even thought about babies.

I knew how they came, but only barely.

It seemed all so impossible and far far far off.

And so . . .

Henry took us both by complete surprise.  To put it mildly.

When I think of myself pregnant with him and the first few months after we had him, it's of a young woman totally mystified by everything that was happening to her.  I was seriously one of those new moms that the nurses probably really didn't feel safe sending home the baby with.  Thank Heaven's for John.  He was totally a natural.  He did everything for Henry for the first few weeks and was very patient with me as I slowly took to parenting.

There are lots of women who were/are born to be mothers.  I am not one of them.  I was never one to goo over babies or get excited when I got to babysit a baby.  I was frankly terrified and prayed they'd go right to sleep so I didn't have to deal with them.  Babies, and children, frankly were dull and boring and a pain.

(Yeah, all these thoughts ran through my head when that stick had two lines instead of one.  How on God's Good Earth was I ever going to be able to care for, let alone love, a baby?)

What happened?

I fell in love.

No one prepared me for love that big or broad or all consuming.  It didn't happen instantly.  At first I didn't want that silly looking baby anywhere near me.  I was exhausted.  I'd pushed for TWO HOURS!  Then, within three minutes of eating and drinking (or rather, Anne, my beautiful sister, feeding me and giving me sips of apple juice), I pushed everyone aside and asked for the little ugly boy.  They put him back in my arms and I can still feel the exact weight of him on my chest.

That's when it began.

The love that takes over your every bone, blood vessel and thought.

And each day it got stronger and stronger.  This little tiny huge surprise filled up every corner of my heart.

There was no way I had love left over for anyone else.

But I was wrong, and as all parents know of multiple children, the love just grows bigger and bigger and fills up a whole house.  It multiplies.

It's complicated, messy and completely overwhelming.  Somedays (yesterday), I want to quit.  Its not that I don't love them or like them or have fun with them, they just OVERWHELM me.  The weight of their combined health and happiness is heavy.  Sometimes I just don't want to carry it.  (I bow down and kiss the ground that all single parents walk on because it's so hard when there are two).  But as I told John yesterday from two thousand miles away, I AM happy, I do LOVE my life and the kids, but I just want to sit in a room by myself and not hear MOM! yelled.

Which brings me back to the Regina Spector song.  I didn't have any expectations of what it meant to be a mom.  I had no plans.  So I've been winging it for years and I'm telling you, it's been one surprise after another.

Kids can go from being a lump on the floor to running full tilt around the room overnight?

A kid can teach themselves how to read?

Potty training DOESN'T happen overnight?  Or even over a month?

You have to follow through on punishments?

You have to follow through on promise?

You have to FOLLOW THROUGH ON EVERYTHING?!

LIfe isn't about me anymore?  What?

Not to mention you are your child's psychologist, doctor, dentist, cheerleader, dictator, teacher, pastor, preacher, buddy and shoulder to cry on.

Bah.

I'm glad I didn't think about it too much because I would have run screaming the other direction. And if I did, I would have missed out on all the surprises that stop my heart and blow my mind.

That happened to me today when I was driving back with Phoebe in the car.  I was telling her about how Henry is struggling with soccer after a year of injuries.  She turned to me and told me about her own journey to figuring out why she should keep dancing, even though it was hard, long hours, took her away from friends/family, and she wasn't as good as the other girls:  "Ballet is me and I am ballet and without it I am lost.  So even if I'm not the best and it's hard and the teachers are mean, it doesn't stop me.  I'm there because I love it.  Henry has to figure out the same thing.  He needs to figure out if he's playing soccer to win, or he's playing it because it makes him happy to kick the ball and be on a field.  If it's the playing, then he shouldn't let anyone stop him."

Where does this wisdom come from?

Seriously, I kept telling myself to keep my jaw from dropping.  She's 13 and she's got some serious stuff figured out (that I don't even have worked out).

Man, I birthed that child!  I helped bring her into the world.

The rest?  The wisdom and goodness, that's all her.

Each one of our five do this to us on regular basis.  We both look at each other and shake our heads and say, Did you hear that?  Where did that come from?

Finnegan's had his first heartbreak.  His best friend/girlfriend has fallen in love with someone else.  He's ok, though.  He still gets to play with her and that's enough.

He's FIVE!  And he knows this stuff already?

Shesh.

See, surprises, they can turn into awesomeness.

If, that is, we pause long enough to let them.