As unbelievable as it may be for those who know me now, I was not the crying type before I had babies. I was tough. I absolutely hated showing weakness in myself and truth be told, I had difficulty believing/tolerating it in others. Crying in public was completely out of the question for me. Not unlike Pink, the central character from the eleventh studio album by Pink Floyd, I too had brick by brick experiences from which I built myself a resilient, protective wall. A wall which safeguarded me from the disappointment and sorrow that can only come from emotionally investing in others. A wall that began with the emotional and then physical abandonment of my parents and was fully realized just before the dissolution of my first marriage. Although I gained some awareness around it, I could not comprehend the wall in its entirety.
And then came my first born. My beautiful baby boy. I was rather anxious about the idea of giving birth. The baby could only come out one of two ways and I wasn't crazy about either option. I prayed to God that I would laugh through the whole experience. I did not want to be a bawling idiot in the delivery room. Little did I know I was about to have an emergency C-section. Nothing funny about that. However, I did laugh. I laughed because my family gives birth to Gerber babies. Plump, bald, beautiful babies. So that's what I expected when first meeting my son. Instead, the baby they held up over the tent for me to adore looked like an Okinawan centenarian with a head full of black hair. So I began laughing. I was so amused. He was so unexpected! And then they laid him across my chest. I patted his soft, foreign head with my heart sensor restrained hand. I was struck with an awareness that my son was a complete stranger to me and yet I would do anything to protect him because instantly I loved him so freely. The wall I'd built up over the majority of my years was crumbling so subtly. Like water dissolving a sugar cube dam. All the hurt poured into joy. Disappointment became hope and faith. Fear converted to love. My heart now a river with a current on an amazing journey.
Motherhood has changed me in ways both terrible and beautiful. I used to feel cool, confident and sexy. Now I feel like, well, a mom. Not that I don't have moments and glimpses of those old feelings, I do. It's just that what defines me as a person has broadened tremendously. No longer in my mind am I simply a chick musician with a cool guitar. Part of that still exists, but I'm also responsible for keeping two adorable, energetic, and hilarious monkeys alive! My greatest ambition now is to release good, kind, loving men out into what seems to be an ever darkening world. Or in the very least keep them from becoming complete jerks. A task that can be quite overwhelming and daunting when viewing the big picture.
I look at my boys and I see so much of the people I love in them. Their daddy's chin, hands and feet. My dad's sandy blond hair on the baby and their Papa's thick dark mane on the oldest. Both paternal and maternal grandmothers' eyes. Granny's slight drawl in the word 'house', pronounced, ha-yous. My sisters and brother when we were little kids. Their aunts and uncles on their father's side. My nieces and nephews. I think of Peter when the baby plays drums and I see Shay's competitive athletic spirit when he picks up a ball. I hear Sandra's infectious laugh when they amuse each other. Brian's artistic approach to life in my oldest and Laura's wit in his well chosen words.
So much of what I love in life, I see in my boys. It just begs the question in my mind, what does my dad sees in me and my sisters? Are we bricks or have we helped break down his wall? Do I really want to know the answer to that question?
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