You climbed into our bed last night scratching furiously at the bug bite on the back of your hand. It was swollen and inflamed. A nasty sight. Groggy and desperate of sleep, I asked you to bring over the medicine on your bathroom counter, and you did without complaint, even though the hallways were dark and the house was quiet. Even though you are often scared of the night. I listened to your quick, four-year-old sized footsteps as you raced down the hall, switched on the light, used the bathroom and then rushed back, medicine and Q-tip clutched in your hand. Medicine applied, you snuggled close beside me and went back to sleep.
A typical night of a mother; interrupted sleep that is dotted with the pride felt for a well behaved child, and the sweetness of being loved.

Swing

At your request, we stopped by the play ground on our way home from dropping your sister off at school.
All you wanted to do there was swing, and so swing we did.
You started off on the baby bucket swing. After a few minutes, you pointed at the normal swing and told me you want to be on the "big swing". "With mommy?" I asked. "Yes," you answered. Off we we went swinging on the big swing, you snugly in my lap, me a bit uncomfortably on the almost-too-small swing, arms looped around the chains and fingers laced in front of your chest. Every time I kick forward, your body would sway towards me. When we rock forward, my arms act as safety belt to keep you securely within my lap.
The sun shone golden on the soft, new leaves above our heads. The wind, brisk as it was, tickled. Front and back we swung, listening to birds sing, pointing out airplanes in the sky, and watched as trees danced in the wind. Sometimes we swung in silent, sometimes I sing a little tune, until I felt your body relaxing against mine, and your head leaning against my arm. A quick peak found you comfortably asleep as I continued to swing, back and forth, back and forth.
I slowed down, stopped, carried a sleeping you back into the car, and hope that I would never, ever forget the simple joy and love that was this morning.

Part-time? Full-time?

At Lauren's new play group yesterday, a mom asked me if I am a full-time mom. The assumption was that since I'm there on a Wednesday morning, I must be.
Surprisingly, I did not know how to answer her.
Am I a full-time mother when I rely on my mother-in-law to care for my children two days a week while I try to work towards a potential future career?
Am I only half-time then when motherhood is the main responsibilities and duties I perform?
Is it decided by the hours I put in into them? Or could it be measured by how much thought I put into each category?
Neither is never far from my mind. When I am working, the images of the little girls may be reduced to two little bean-like figures crouching at the edge of my mind, but they are never dispersed. When I am with them, the questions and issues I have towards work may be muted, but they never cease to nibble at my consciousness.
If you put school work and motherhood on the table and ask me to prioritize, motherhood definitely wins out. I will never render the primary care taker position of my girls to any one else. When I have the girls, we play, bake, read, sing, dance. I at most sneak a couple of minutes to check my email if I know something important is coming in (or if I am having a minor panic attack about my school work). On those days, I am not physically engaged with the academics. Does this make me a lesser would-be scholar?
But I've also handed a feverish child to her grandmother in order to attend class before. Does this make me a lesser mom?
I know I can't have it all. I am already lucky to have the support of my family to be on my quest for this degree. I dare not ask more of others but of myself to continue and try. Try and reach and pray that the carrot dangling in front of me is not fixed at arm's length, but would finally be within my grasp. More importantly, I pray that the carrot is as tasty and satisfying as I imagine it to be.

Saturday morning before Mother's day

I forgot that it's commencement at the College today. No wonder the Library is closed this morning. There's a wind pipe going. Are we a Scotish school? Lights are all dimmed except for the hall ways that I need to walk through. There were talks about the Library being haunted by the spirit of a sister. I am not going to think about that. I will focus on the bright blue sky and the lush green leaves of the maple tree right outside my window instead.

I am not in work mode. Found a bit of Macro code that I could use for an Excel sheet, applied that to my file, felt greatly accomplished, and am ready for a nap. Can't help it, little girl woke at 5:17am for some milk and play time. I was supposed to operate in silence, avoid eye contact, and put her down to bed with minimal interaction with her so she'd know it's not time to get up yet. But how could I not smile back and respond to her when she flashes the big, toothless smile at me that bespoke how glade she was to see me? So instead of crawling back in bed for some more needed rest, I read stories, changed diapers (two, she wet one and pooped in the other), pumped milk, and dozed a tiny bit while feeding her one more time before she fell asleep again. And now I'm at work. My eyes feel half their normal size, and my brain cries that it wants me to go sit under the big maple tree, gaze up at the swaying leaves under the bright blue sky and think of nothing. No, can't think of nothing, there is always my little girl to think of. That's what being a mother is like to me. My head my heart is always filled with the image of my little girl, the smell of her scent, the feel of her weight in my arms, and the warmth of her skin against mine. Maybe she's taking a nap now, and the sight of her sleeping angelically in her swing with her arms resting on her thighs comes to mind. Maybe she's playing with her daddy, and the sound of her cooing and images of her waving her small hands, exploring stuffed animals with her delicate fingers while her legs kicked strongly fill my head.

It is almost exactly one year since the pregnancy test showed positive of her. I remembered how I climbed back to bed to share the news with her daddy, and afterwards, we lay there in silence, both awashed in waves of emotion. I trembled as a quiet joy swelled in and filled my heart, as the realization of the tremendous responsibility of motherhood that I would soon take on dawned on me, as excitement and nervousness warred themselves into silly giddiness. And then, my belly started showing. And then, the baby started kicking. And then, we were in the hospital and this tiny little person came out of me and she looked at us and ate from my breast and I became a bona fide mommy. Never would I have imagined how beautiful our little girl is, how wonderful she makes life, and how amazing caring for her and watching her grow can be. I've always wanted to be a mother, and I didn't even know how great being a mother truly is.

Day after mother's day last year, she let us know of her existence. I've been thankful for it ever since. I don't need mother's day to celebrate motherhood. Being a mother is rewarding enough in itself. Sure I'm sleep deprived so much so that I couldn't think straight most of the times, and my memory has gaps as big as teathing rings; sure my hair is always a mess and chances are I smell like spit-up; sure the house is in disarray and the number of things that need organizing is too great to even start a list for them; but the little girl makes it all worth while. She makes it mother's day every day.