Mother Heart

When Aubrey was about 2 weeks old Matt went out of town for a week for a school project.  My mom came and stayed with me while he was gone, because at the time, being alone with a newborn for a week scared the crap out of me.  While she was there we decided to take a little trip to the mall.  I had some things I needed to return, and we thought it would be a nice way to spend some time out of the house.  But not long after we got there something very strange happened to me.  

I totally wigged out.

Everywhere we went all I could hear was blaring music, and all I could see was germy people, and ultra bright lights.  And all I wanted to do was get my precious new baby out of that place and back into her home.  I started to cry a little (can we say HORMONES?) and told my mom that I couldn't do it.  I needed to go home.  She understood, reassuring me that it was too soon...and someday I would feel normal again.

You could call it post par-tum anxiety, you could blame it on hormones, or you could call me a helicopter mom.  But I have since learned better.

I can vividly remember walking back into our then tiny apartment, and feeling immediate peace.  It was quiet, and clean, and there seemed to be a soft glow...some sort of intangible tenderness the lingered for weeks after Aubrey arrived.  I let it envelope me.

During that week I talked with my mom at length about my feelings as a new mother...expressing numerous times that I felt like a helping of bliss and a serving of crazy were thrown into a ziplock bag, shook around for several minutes, and called Motherhood.  The bliss came from cuddling, nursing, sniffing, and getting to know Aubrey.  The "crazy" came from a staggering, almost crippling protectiveness that I felt about my new baby.  It surged out of me with full force from the moment I laid eyes on her in the delivery room.  It was powerful and unexpected.

My mom, in all her wisdom taught me that this particular brand of "crazy" wasn't really "crazy" (although it was not helped by my raging hormones).  It was simply my developing Mother Heart.  She explained that those feelings are a gift to mothers.  They help us feel bonded to our children, and provide an immediate protection for our young...just like wild animals, and that over time I would feel more in control of my emotions.

And of course, she was right.

The reason I bring this up again, is that 3 1/2 years later I am still learning to understand my Mother Heart.  Of course it is different now.  We go to all different kinds of places and see all different kinds of people, and thankfully I don't start crying in the middle of American Eagle anymore.  But the protectiveness?  The desire the shield Aubrey from suffering?  The urge to keep her close to me?  Those feelings still exist, to an extent.  As I am sure they always will.

I put Aubrey on the bus to preschool this morning.  Then I walked inside, and spent the next fifteen minutes trying to swallow the lump in my throat.  I got down on my knees and asked my Heavenly Father to help my Mother Heart.  To let me let go when I need to, and to hold on when my grasp needs to be tighter.

This afternoon, after Aubrey was home again, we snuggled up together on my bed.  I had just finished folding the clean clothes, we were listening to soft music, and the curtains were flowing in the breeze.  Aubrey laid her head on my chest.  And I felt a soft glow.  Some sort of intangible tenderness that lingered in the room.

And I thanked God for my Mother Heart.