Being a mum is like nothing else. I don't think you can describe it to anyone other than another mum. Guilt is a new feeling to me, I don't think I've ever really felt guilty about anything before, but now I feel guilty that she gets formula so young, guilty that she goes to daycare, guilty when she cries and I can't soothe her, and guilty if I have to pass her off to James because I need a break from her. We've been talking about getting a student to babysit so we can go to a movie, but I can't! I think what kind of mother pays some stranger to look after her child so she can go to see a movie! How selfish!! I realise it is not, of course, but I just can't do it yet. Maybe by the time she is 15 :) I'm also paranoid! She has a little cough at the moment and I'm certain it is some kind of violent respiratory infection. I still get up about 10 times a night to check she is breathing, and if James is late bringing her home I'm pacing up and down the driveway waiting for them. The other day I was getting ready to meet Monica for sushi and James went to get Ana from daycare. He got stuck in traffic and it took him an hour and 40 minutes to do a journey that usually takes 25 minutes - I almost lost my mind! He pulled into the driveway and I burst into tears and grabbed Ana - he looked at me and said "sorry I made you late for sushi". I was incredulous! You think I'm having a breakdown because I'm late for sushi?? Like I said....I don't think you get it unless you are a mum. Then there are the good things....I look at her sometimes and I love her so much I literally can't breathe. I want to pick her up and cuddle her all the time. It makes me happy when she does the most trivial of things - cooing, smiling, kicking her legs. I get excited about all the things she'll do next like crawling, walking and saying words. There are random things I think are great too - she has a perfect bellybutton, her feet are so soft, and I love her little gums! They are so perfect and smooth! They'll only be this way for a few more months so I try to make the most of them. Sometimes I run my (clean) finger over them and she loves it. Lastly, I love seeing her and James together - It is a wonderful feeling watching the two of them bond and it makes me feel closer to James than ever. We did this together, we are a family, and neither of our lives will ever be the same again. As I was finishing this post I found this article on the internet and although it is written from a different point of view I think it sums motherhood up really well - much more eloquantly than I can:
We are sitting at lunch when my daughter casually mentions that she and her husband are thinking of "starting a family". "We're taking a survey," she says, half-joking. "Do you think I should have a baby?"
"It will change your life," I say, carefully keeping my tone neutral.
"I know," she says, "no more sleeping in on weekends, no more spontaneous vacations...."
But that is not what I meant at all. I look at my daughter, trying to decide what to tell her. I want her to know what she will never learn in childbirth classes. I want to tell her that the physical wounds of child bearing will heal, but that becoming a mother will leave her with an emotional wound so raw that she will forever be vulnerable.
I consider warning her that she will never again read a newspaper without asking "What if that had been MY child?" That every plane crash, every house fire will haunt her. That when she sees pictures of starving children, she will wonder if anything could be worse than watching your child die. I look at her carefully manicured nails and stylish suit and think that no matter how sophisticated she is, becoming a mother will reduce her to the primitive level of a bear protecting her cub. That an urgent call of "Mom!" will cause her to drop a souffle or her best crystal without a moment's hesitation.
I feel I should warn her that no matter how many years she has invested in her career, she will be professionally derailed by motherhood. She might arrange for childcare, but one day she will be going into an important business meeting and she will think of her baby's sweet smell. She will have to use every ounce of her discipline to keep from running home, just to make sure her baby is alright.
I want my daughter to know that everyday decisions will no longer be routine. That a five year old boy's desire to go to the men's room rather than the women's at McDonald's will become a major dilemma. That right there, in the midst of clattering trays and screaming children, issues of independence and gender identity will be weighed against the prospect that a child molester may be lurking in that restroom. However decisive she may be at the office, she will second-guess herself constantly as a mother.
Looking at my attractive daughter, I want to assure her that eventually she will shed the pounds of pregnancy, but she will never feel the same about herself. That her life, now so important, will be of less value to her once she has a child. That she would give it up in a moment to save her offspring, but will also begin to hope for more years - not to accomplish her own dreams, but to watch her child accomplish theirs.
I want her to know that a caesarean scar or shiny stretch marks will become badges of honor. My daughter's relationship with her husband will change, but not in the way she thinks. I wish she could understand how much more you can love a man who is careful to powder the baby or who never hesitates to play with his child. I think she should know that she will fall in love with him again for reasons she would now find very unromantic.
I wish my daughter could sense the bond she will feel with women throughout history who have tried to stop war, prejudice and drunk driving. I hope she will understand why I can think rationally about most issues, but become temporarily insane when I discuss the threat of nuclear war to my children's future.
I want to describe to my daughter the exhilaration of seeing your child learn to ride a bike. I want to capture for her the belly laugh of a baby who is touching the soft fur of a dog or a cat for the first time. I want her to taste the joy that is so real, it actually hurts.
My daughter's quizzical look makes me realize that tears have formed in my eyes. "You'll never regret it," I finally say. Then I reach across the table, squeeze my daughter's hand and offer a silent prayer for her, and for me, and for all of the mere mortal women who stumble their way into this most wonderful of callings.
This blessed gift from God . . .that of being a Mother.
Ana was fairly oblivious to her mum and dad's misery and seemed to thoroughly enjoy her first Christmas. She got lots of presents, including some cool clothes, books and toys! So far she seems to really like the incy wincy spider she got from Auntie Pheo. She also had a song composed for her on the piano by her great uncle Chiz - how cool! 
