Surviving Motherhoods' Many Incarnations

(Mamatopia, Vortexia) -- I am entering a new phase of motherhood; one I’m not entirely familiar with yet, but which evidently comes with the territory when one reaches a certain stage of life. For me, that stage is the upcoming marriage of my youngest child.

Motherhood, I have learned, goes something like this. When children are:

Newborn to Age Five: “Mother” means Food and Love. The simplicity of our role as mothers of infants, in retrospect, is staggering. But as children reach the age of two or three, we are gob-smacked with our first reality check: They aren’t always the angels we assumed they were.

Yes, our children still adore us, but they can turn monstrous at the drop of a hat, screaming horrid epithets when they don’t get their way. As we bask in the false notion that their adulation of us will last forever, the title Disciplinarian is added to our job-description.

Five to Ten Years-of Age: Our moniker is now synonymous with “Slave.” It’s difficult to determine when, and why, our children’s perception of us changes, but school most definitely has something to do with it. Their peers have become the center of their egocentric little universe. We, still trusting in our indispensability, cling blindly to the remnants of their need for us, ignoring the alien creature inside of them raring to hatch. If only we knew what lay ahead, we might just decide to sell everything and move to Antarctica. There, at least, there would be fewer casualties from their soon-to-be uncontrollable hormones.

Pre-Teens and Teens: Seemingly overnight, we are "The Enemy.” Unprepared for this demonization, we hit the panic button, yet no matter how hard we kick against the goads, we are sucked into the black hole of teenage hormonal hell. Our children are embarrassed by our very existence. They are mortified to be seen with us in public to the point of pretending they don’t know us. Everything is our fault. In their eyes, we are domineering harridans; stupid, old-fashioned, irrelevant road blocks to their future. On our worst days, we imagine our reflection in the mirror verifies their opinion of us. It’s flat out gruesome. Where has the time gone? What’s happened to our babies? Who ARE we?

Young Adults: If we survived our children’s teen years, the name “mother” may now mean “Friend…sort of, kind of… but not really.” This is a nebulous time of life for mother and child, at best. Neither one is quite sure how they arrived at this ceasefire -- this unverbalized truce -- but all parties breathe a sigh of relief that the worst is, hopefully, behind them. We see our children in a new, more mature light. And they see us as maybe having some brains after all. Time to leave Antarctica and come back home.

Married Adults: The rewards of motherhood take on new meaning here. We hear our name spoken with a semblance of admiration, if not reverence, as if “mom” means “Dear Trusted, Wise One Who Never Gave Up On Me.” The phone calls become more frequent (depending on if the child is a son or a daughter) asking for recipes or advice or just to talk. The restoration of our identity as mothers coming full-circle bringing immeasurable satisfaction. It’s actually possible to smile at our gray hair and wrinkles in the mirror because it no longer represents loss; it reflects triumph.

This is the stage of motherhood I am in now; a parent to married adults. I know nothing of future incarnations -- that of grandmother, or great-grandmother – but I am convinced it will be wonderful despite the predictable speed bumps along the way. And, though I could hear you chuckling with me during this satirical journey through the incarnations of motherhood – and I know you realize the joys and privilege of motherhood are worth every sacrifice -- we mothers share a common bond: We love our children with a love that passes all understanding.

So, to all you mothers (and mother’s-to-be someday) I leave you this for Mother's Day: be strong, be persistent, and be blessed. You are beloved whether or not you know it or feel it. Because when it's all said and done, really, your name is: “You Can Do It; All Things Are Possible With God!”