What Mommy does

Big Man (formerly New Baby) – Age 1

Big Man

Big Man’s Tunnel of Love.

Mommy feeds me and keeps me clean, but those aren’t the most important things she does. Hell, even Daddy can do that, although clean becomes a relative term when he’s in charge. Mommy is a part of me like no one else in the world is a part of me. Mommy makes everything better just by coming near. She makes me feel safe and comfortable.  She’s warmer than anybody else. Her heart beats the perfect time and her skin smells like love.

When Mommy picks me up, clouds part and the sun shines from her eyes. In her glow, I am never alone. Even when I walk around a corner and can’t see her, she can see me. She sees me with her heart and she will come in an instant if her heart tells her I need her. Mommy knows my worries and my fears. Whatever the trouble, Mommy makes it right.

Buster – Age 3

Buster

Buster’s crown of patience.

Mommy listens to me. I have trouble saying some sounds, so big people can’t always understand my words. Sometimes Mommy can’t understand everything I say, but she always listens. And she always responds. She knows I have the words, but my tongue can’t always say them. She doesn’t always figure out my words, but she knows what I mean. She knows because she’s Mommy.

She understands my words perfectly when I tell her, “I love you, Mommy.” Those words are easy.

Mommy’s patient. She’s teaching me how to use the potty. Daddy would let me wear diapers until I could read an instructional manual on potty training. Mommy makes me feel proud to use the potty, even though I’m still a little shy about it. She doesn’t give up because I had an accident. She brings me dry underwear, and then everything’s okay again. Mommy makes it right.

Big Brother – Age 6

Big Brother

Big Brother’s appliance of helpful goodness.

Mommy makes me do things I don’t feel like doing. She makes me do my homework before play. She makes me practice math and spelling. She makes me take baths and clean up my messes. She makes me write thank-you notes and letters to apologize to my teacher when I’ve misbehaved in school. Daddy makes me do difficult things too, but he forgets about my homework sometimes and I don’t think he knows what a thank-you note is.

I sometimes get upset about all the things Mommy makes me do, but it doesn’t last long. Deep down, I know why she makes me do them, and I’m glad I have somebody like that. She makes me do these things because she cares. She wants me to be good. I want to be good too, but sometimes it’s hard and I need help.

Daddy says he wants me to be a good man one day. I’m not really sure how to do that. Mommy wants me to be a good boy, right now. That, I understand. Even though I sometimes stray from being a good boy, I know there’s always somebody to help me get back on track, because Mommy makes it right.

Happy Mother’s Day, Mommy! We love you so much! Thanks for always making it right.

Conversations with my wife: Interpreting motherhood

Our baby saves his crying almost exclusively for when he is tired. But when he does cry, he really belts it out. He’ll play and play, then suddenly start to wail. This means it’s time to help him drift off to sleep.

One night, when my wife was out, the baby turned on his tired siren. My wife came home as I was rocking him in my arms. He hadn’t gone to sleep yet, which means he was still bellowing his sleepy woes at me.

WIFE: What’s wrong with the baby?

ME: He’s ready for bed.

WIFE: Poor thing. Give him to his mother.

(I hand him over, which is always easier to do when he’s crying.)

WIFE: (To the baby.)My sweet baby, always crying for your family when you get so sleepy. You’re just like your mama.

ME: That’s not like you at all. You yell at your family when you’re tired.

WIFE: That’s how mothers cry.

wife scolding husband

American men have been misinterpreting motherhood since the days of the Founding Fathers (and Founding Sons). The poor, misunderstood mother in this scene is only crying at her family. Maybe it is her horribly dislocated elbow that is causing her such sadness.