When I was a kid, I didn't spend a lot of time daydreaming about being a mother. In fact, even when I was a teenager and later when I was married I didn't have a picture in my mind of what motherhood would be like. To say that my day-to-day life as a mother was surprising is an understatement. "Surprising" is for when Debbie Fisher pops out of a gigantic cake - my introduction to motherhood's foibles was more along the lines of "rude awakening with a side order of shock and awe." Or something like that.
Nevertheless, I have discovered that even though I had no preconceived notions about raising children, there is something tucked way back in my brain, in the instinct region, that lights up with recognition. My kids will do something and my primordial brain goes, "Aha! This is what parenting is all about!" It doesn't happen often, so when it does, I try to take notice.
Today Brad came upstairs and asked, "Mom, do you have any good books?" This, this is the moment that crystallizes what I love about being a mother. It's more than him asking my advice; it's more than us sharing a bond over my favorite hobby. It's the summation of all the years he and I have spent together up to this point. It's him asking me a question as a peer and not as a parent. I don't know if I'm even making sense anymore - maybe this is an indescribable feeling. It wasn't momentous, per se - it was just a quick question, I handed him a book, and he was on his way. But it was a moment, and one that feels deeper than it seems.
(I am choosing to end this post on a positive note, instead of allowing myself to ruin the "moment" with a contrasting view of my moments with Darcey lately, which quite frequently involve poop that is neither in a diaper nor in the potty. In fact, that's part of the reason I haven't blogged much lately - if I don't have something nice to say, I don't say anything at all. One day we'll look back at the months of potty training and laugh...but not yet. And probably not for a good long time.)