I have to leave the house for a while today and wanted to put up a blog post before I went. When I woke up at 4 this morning (damned insomnia) and couldn’t get back to sleep, I tried to write something witty about how my first week of P90X kicked my ass to the tune of a five-pound weight loss. I started at the cursor like a catatonic dope for ten minutes and then quit. I returned a few emails and then crashed again, hoping that when I woke up for the day a couple of hours later, my brain would be awake enough to compose a decent post.
Thankfully, my Dear Sweet Mother Numpsi (that’s Mom to you; I’ll have to tell you the story of the “Numpsi” nickname later) had written a lengthy comment in response to yesterday’s post. It is so awesomesauce that it needs to stand alone. This is almost like that time she wrote a paper for me when I was in high school and my teacher proclaimed it the best I’d ever written. In the comments, instead of telling me how great I am, you can tell my Mommy Lady how great she is. Or you can tell us how great we both are, because we are boss. Word.
In all seriousness, my mom has written a lovely response to yesterday’s post (if you haven’t read “Balance” yet, you might want to start there, first). Because I failed to warn you yesterday – you might also want to grab the Kleenex before you read.
An aside to my mommy: When in parental doubt, I don’t ask ‘What would Jesus do?” I ask, ‘What would Mommy do?” I love you, Lady.
Without further ado, my mommy speaks:
I started reading this as I was headed out the door yesterday evening. When I read the first paragraph, I knew it was not a post to speed read, so I left it until this morning.
Hot cup of coffee in hand, I sat here with the intent to do my morning ritual of reading the Smart One’s blogs, my emails, and hitting the Stumble Upon button to read several articles of my chosen areas of interest as they popped up with each Stumble.
My coffee is now cold, no emails have been read, and Stumble is forgotten. I’ve read this over and over again and each time I read it, memories come pouring out from the depths of my brain from an area called “long term memories.”
Like a traveler in a time machine in which you pull the lever and go speeding through years and decades, I remembered the day I was told in all probability that I would never have children.
Then each of my daughters’ lives was shown to me in warp speed. Each pregnancy was hard-fought and each of their births was a miracle; especially Chanel’s because we both almost didn’t make it. I chose Chanel to save and not me when the doctor and the girls’ dad walked back into the labor room looking as if they had just had a conference with the Grim Reaper and was told, “You have a choice – mommy or the baby.” But by divine intervention, we both made it. I remembered telling her dad, “Save the baby,” and when he nodded his head that he would, I went through the rest of the labor with total calm, at peace.
I remembered how when Moxie was born, I refused all medications at her birth because I didn’t want anything in her system and I wanted to be fully awake and aware when we first looked into each other’s eyes. I could have sworn I heard her say, “Hi, Mommy Lady!” when they put her on my chest and I held her up to look at her.
With Dani Girl, it was laughter and jokes and me yelling, “She’s stuck, she’s stuck!” while trying to push out a 10 lb, 6 oz miracle. Her twin didn’t make it. I had miscarried her twin months before. Do you see the miracle of her birth, gentle readers?
The good times flew through my vision as well as the not so good. They all have meaning, as they all helped shape and mold us. At times, this morning I’ve had to stop because of blurred vision caused by tears as I remembered.
I’ve accomplished a lot in my lifetime, against all odds, at times. With each accomplishment, no matter how great, they NEVER compare to my lifetime as a mother. I’m blessed to have lived long enough to see that my greatness goes on within my daughters.
They truly are the testament of my greatness!
I know this is a long post but in the words of Steely Dan’s “Deacon Blues:” ‘I cried when I wrote this song; sue me if I play too long.’
Now, would somebody please hand me the tissue box that’s being passed around?
And you thought my badassedness came naturally. I got it honestly.
*A few years ago, she wrote a series of posts for me which you can find here: Somewhere Over the Rainbow