There is a reoccurring thought that keeps nagging me. It is more of a question really. A question that, when asked and honestly answered, isn't always positive. The question is this: Am I a good mother? Am I doing all that I can to give this child the best life he can have? Is he happy? OK, so, three questions.
I guess the questions started before Benson as even conceived. When my husband and I were first married, we got pregnant unexpectedly only two months after the white dress and tuxedo. I was knee deep in Cosmetology school and Bryce was forehead deep into undergrad and preparing for Med School. I found out I was pregnant at an regular check-up with the lady doctor. We had, only days before, sat down to talk about our future family. We decided that we wanted to wait for a couple years before we had children. When I found out I was pregnant two years too early, it was, to say that least, an emotional time. I was nervous that Bryce would be upset and even angry. And I had prepared myself for two more years of newlywed bliss.
I quickly learned that when you are married to a wonderful man, he doesn't get upset or angry. He just lets you cry and tells you it will be fine. So we rearranged our plans to bring a baby into our family. I quit school to go back to work to earn some money for the little ones arrival and Bryce concentrated on getting accepted to med school. We were getting excited and even started goofing around with name choices. It was fun to be able to share my news with family and friends and hear their joy as well. This is when the mother questions began to fill my head.
Then, we had to rearrange again.
I miscarried at 15 weeks into my pregnancy. The news came to us in a very abrupt and poor way and I was emotionally devastated. What was I going to do now? Much anguish, tears, and guilt followed. Anguish for the life that was lost. Tears for the pain that we felt. And guilt. Guilt for the realization that a tiny part of both of us was relieved. Those questions again came rushing. Was I going to be a good mother?
Emotions dulled and we were able to look forward to a new chapter in our lives. Medical school. I don't have to put into writing the tales I had heard about medical school. We have all heard them. Let's just say we were prepared, or so we thought, for a grueling four years. And grueling they were. I can't speak wholly for my husband, but I would be pretty safe in saying those years were some of the most stressful and tiring years of our marriage and perhaps our lives. The hardest part, for me, was watching my husband struggle with tests, studies, finances, and family and have very little power to help. I know I offered some support by going to work and providing a comfortable home, but I couldn't take a Bio-Chem test for him. I couldn't study for board exams for him. I was a listening ear and a shoulder. I'm not belittling this role, I am only expressing the difficulty I had in not being able to do more.
If I am 100% honest, a lot of my stress from those four years comes from the knowledge that I caused Bryce added worry and stress. I need a lot as a wife. I know that about myself. I need emotional stability to even out my sensitivity. I need affection and love. I need a role model and a guide. I need reassurance and coaching. And I really like to be entertained. And my husband worked tirelessly to give me all these things along with keeping up with his school responsibilities. It really is almost too much for one man to accomplish. The situation caused anguish, tears and guilt for both of us. There were many wonderful and happy moments too. In fact, so many that I remember these moments far more that I remember the others. But the difficulties we faced were important, and have undoubtedly brought us blessings.
During this time, we had decided let our family grow. We prepared for another quick conception because of our earlier surprise. However, we were unable to conceive for nearly three years. After many failed fertility treatments and tests, we handed the matter over to the Lord. Our marriage couldn't take anymore fertility drama and we were both showing severe wear because of the experience. It was at this point that we did conceive. While the pregnancy was welcome, we were nervous about possible miscarriage and hesitant to spread the news. I was nearly 14 weeks before we told most of my family and close friends. Again, the motherhood questions began to nag, nag, nag.
I recalled our hardships, our last four years of crazy madness, and I worried. How can I bring a child into this world? Am I going to be a good mother? My married life has been less than perfect and I want this child of God to have all that he deserves in life. Can I give it to him? Am I able to be what Heavenly Father wants me to be for one of His own?
Then, after an eventful pregnancy and delivery, Benson was born. I am a mother.
What Next?
I'd like to say that in the last, almost, two years of Benson's life I have come to realize that I am a good mother. That I always give my son the best of everything. That he is always happy. Oh my. But, this is not the case. Today Benson burned both of his precious hands on a curling iron when I was away from the room. I didn't just leave the room for a second, I forgot entirely the iron was on. I was sitting, still in my jammies, at 9:30 am, in front of the computer. I had house work to do. I had a diaper to change. And I sat in front of this same computer while my son burned his innocent hands. I cried for two hours with my son while he wondered why the pain in his hands wouldn't go away. The anguish, tears and guilt came rushing back when I looked at his red, swollen, and blistered hands. A better mother wouldn't have let this happen, right?
Right?
Wrong. A better mother puts the curling iron away, soothes her son's hands as best she can and cries with him on the couch while watching Leap Frog. She does anything she can to ease his pain and then kisses and tells him she is sorry. When he falls asleep on her lap from exhaustion, she slowly bring him to his bed and gently lays him down to rest. A better mother goes back to being a mother. She learns, she grows, and she prays for help. I know I am not a perfect mother. I am not even a good mother sometimes. But, I can always, always be a better mother than I was.
