Mama

The following was emailed to me a long time ago and had been in my drafts folder all this time. I thought now would be a good time to post it as Mother's Day has just gone past and my mother's birthday is coming up. Being a mother myself and a daughter, I was moved deeply upon reading it.

Mama and I no longer see each other everyday like we did when I was growing up. I terribly miss her although she probably doesn't realize that. Ours is not a touchy-feely family. Our "I love yous" and "I miss yous" are coated with the simplest of presents and with casual conversations about everything from the most trivial to the most intimate. It is when we "gossip", mostly about our own lives, (honestly!) and when we inject comedy into our talkfests that we celebrate our special bond which has become more apparent to me now that we're apart. Rewind to the years when I was single, working, living my life in Manila... I wasn't quick to understand or even recognize that extraordinary connection my mother and I had. Fast forward to 1999 when I found myself with a man I barely knew, living in a foreign country and then fell pregnant in 2000... the child in me cried out for my Mama. Giving birth to Cerise and raising her... I now find myself saying "Ah! So THAT'S how much Mama loves me!" ... or "I can see now how proud Mama was when I did well and how that didn't change one bit when I didn't do as well." ... or "That's how much Mama worried about me???!!! ... or "I feel sorry for Mama as I'm sure she misses me a lot". I remember shortly after I left the Philippines, my friend was telling me how she called Mama to check on her and Mama said (tears in her eyes) she could still smell my perfume around the house, especially in my bedroom which she found so hard to ignore so that she missed me so much. How silly of me to dismiss that as Mama being overly dramatic when part of the joy of doing my laundry now is smelling Cerise's dirty clothes so that even though she's at school, it feels like she's with me but at the same time it makes me want for her to come home soon! Most times, I am humbled and I think to myself "Mama had sacrificed and done so much more for me than I could ever do for Cerise.", considering the circumstances she was in raising three girls compared to my own. I'm only in my 6th year of motherhood and already, revelations about my mother's greatness are countless. And I look forward to more in the years to come. What is the point of being a mother if I can't appreciate how amazingly well my own mother has responded to her calling? In my younger years, I used to plan I'd do a lot to repay Mama. But now I know that I can never do enough to pay her back... and that it was never about paying her back... I am in fact to pay it forward by being the best mother I can ever be to my own child.

BEING A MOTHER
We are sitting at lunch when my daughter casually mentions that she and her husband are thinking of "starting a family." "We're taking a survey," she says, half-joking. "Do you think I should have a baby?" "It will change your life," I say, carefully keeping my tone neutral.
"I know," she says, "no more sleeping in on weekends, no more spontaneous vacations...."
But that is not what I meant at all.
I look at my daughter, trying to decide what to tell her. I want her to know what she will never learn in childbirth classes. I want to tell her that the physical wounds of child bearing will heal, but that becoming a mother will leave her with an emotional wound so raw that she will forever be vulnerable.
I consider warning her that she will never again read a newspaper without asking "What if that had been MY child?" That every plane crash, every house fire will haunt her. That when she sees pictures of starving children, she will wonder if anything could be worse
than watching your child die.
I look at her carefully manicured nails and stylish suit and think that no matter how sophisticated she is, becoming a mother will reduce her to primitive level of a bear protecting her cub.
That an urgent call of "Mom!" will cause her to drop a soufflé or her best crystal without a moment's hesitation. I feel I should warn her that no matter how many years she has invested in her career, she will be professionally derailed by motherhood.
She might arrange for child care but one day she will be going into an important business meeting and she will think of her baby's sweet smell. She will have to use every ounce of her discipline to keep her from running home, just to make sure her baby is all right.
I want my daughter to know that everyday decisions will no longer be routine. That a five year old boy's desire to go to the men's room rather than the women's at McDonald's will become a major dilemma. That right there, in the midst of clattering trays and screaming children, issues of independence and gender identity will be weighed against the prospect that a child molester may be lurking in that rest-room.
However she may be at the office, she will second-guess herself constantly as a mother. Looking at my attractive daughter, I want to assure her that eventually she will shed the pounds of pregnancy, but she will never feel the same about herself. That her life, now so important, will be of less value to her once she has a child. That she would give it up in a moment to save her offspring, but will also begin to hope for more years - not to accomplish her own dreams, but to watch her child accomplish theirs.
I want her to know that a Cesarean scar or shiny stretch marks will become badges of honor. My daughter's relationship with her husband will change, but not in the way she thinks..
I wish she could understand how much more you can love a man who is careful to powder the baby or who never hesitates to play with his child. I think she should know that she will fall in love with him again for reasons she would now find very unromantic.
I wish my daughter could sense the bond she will feel with women throughout history who have tried to stop war, prejudice and drunk driving. I hope she will understand why I can think rationally about most issues, but become temporarily insane when I discuss the threat of nuclear war to my children's future.
I want to describe to my daughter the exhilaration of seeing your child learn to ride a bike. I want to capture for her the belly laugh of a baby who is touching the soft fur of a dog or a cat for the first time. I want her to taste the joy that is so real, it actually hurts.
My daughter's quizzical look makes me realize that tears have
formed in my eyes. "You'll never regret it," I finally say.
Then I reach across the table, squeeze my daughter's hand and offer a silent prayer for her, and for me, and for all of the mere mortal women who stumble their way into this most wonderful of callings.
This blessed gift from God!
Being a Mother.