I Think You'll Understand

There are days when I hate being a mother.

There.  I said it.

But it's probably not what you're thinking.

It's days like today, when the news is so terrible, that I just don't want to be a mom.

When you read about an 8-year-old child killed by a bomb.  An 8-year-old child who was with his mom and sister as they cheered on their dad / husband who was running in a marathon.  I don't ever want to be that mom who has to feel that pain.

When you read about a gunman who enters an elementary school and robs so many families of such innocent joy.  That innocent joy that went to school that day excited to learn about science, or math, or read something new.  I don't ever want to be that mom who has to feel that pain.

When you read about some teenagers who want some money, so they shoot a mother and baby.  That mother and baby who were out for a walk, enjoying the fresh air.  I don't ever want to be that mom who has to feel that pain.

When you read about that driver who had a little too much to drink and then t-boned that other car, killing the children in the backseat.  That car that was carrying that family that was coming home from getting some ice cream as they celebrated that today was Wednesday and it was finally a warm day.  I don't ever want to be that mom who has to feel that pain.

Every time I read a story about a sick child, or an injured child, or the unfortunate passing of a child.  I don't ever want to be that mom who has to feel that pain.  But with every one of those stories, my heart aches anyway.  I think about my sweet, silly, curious, into-every-little-thing boy, and I can't imagine my life without him.  I don't WANT to imagine my life without him.  It makes me wish that there was a way to guarantee that nothing bad ever happens to children -- of any age.  Because let's face it, I'm pretty sure this pain won't fade just because my baby boy is in his teens, or has graduated from college and is out on his own, or has established himself and has his own family and his own children to worry about.  I'm pretty sure that for as long as I am his mother, I will always feel that ache in my heart.

So yes.  I hate being a mother.  Not because I have to change dirty diapers or clean up that mess of tupperware containers that we've pulled out of the cabinet for the umpteenth time.  Not because I have to stay up all night with a child who isn't feeling well, or wake up before the sun comes up because a little someone is ready to start the day.  I don't hate being a mother because I'll have to spend my afternoons shuttling children from school to after-school activities.  I don't hate being a mother because I have three loads of laundry that should have been washed and folded yesterday. 

I hate being a mother because I just don't want to live my life any other way.  I hate being a mother because I don't want to NOT be a mother.

I want to wrap my baby up in bubble wrap (keeping it completely clear of his airways, of course) so that when he falls, he won't get a scrape, or a bump, or a bruise, or a broken bone.  I want to keep my baby home with me and sit inside my house all day so that we don't risk being in an accident or being "at the wrong place at the wrong time."  Okay, it sounds a little ridiculous, but I think many of you know exactly what I mean.

We just want what's best for our babies; for them to be safe, for them to feel loved and cared for and for them to never feel scared.  And the fact that we cannot guarantee all of that is heartbreaking.

So I hate being a mother.

But I love my baby with every fiber of my being.