Where does this confidance come from?
In "The Gift of an Ordinary Day," author Katrina Kenison writes that the only constant in her mothering from infants to teens, is her enduring love. Everything else-patience, advice, and myriad parenting beliefs and aspirations were altered throughout her sons' childhood. In the end of her hands-on parenting career, she has finally come to understand that her enduring love is all she ever needed.
I chuckled in agreement when I read this, yes in agreement, but also in rememberance of the desperate wisdom of an inside-out 19 year old, whose only wish, only hope, only tear-filled, fist-clenched prayer for her newborn daughter was that this little girl knew, without a sliver of doubt, that she was loved. I had no other attainable goal at that time in my life. Everything was crazy, all my vague plans for life were pushed far away in my last scream during labor. I had no idea what was coming next. Anything was possible. I could die tomorrow, she could die, my boyfriend could die, the whole world could collapse in apocalyptic ruin. I had no idea what I was doing. What else could I hold on to but my capacity to love?
In a world of almost 3 billion people, one teenage mother is not going to end the world. Then again, reflecting on the Christmas story, that did happen once. Nevertheless, my emotions during that time were not because my baby was bringing destruction or salvation to the earth. The effects never went beyond my bubble of existence- which is always enough- to me it was the whole world. I was a child becoming an adult. And this happened in exactly 9 months and 16 hours. My world as a child- focused on me. Now it shifted to another. It is as simple and as spiritually flipping as that.
Books and movies have addressed the fantasy of knowing the exact time of your own death- and how this affects the main characters remaining life. For every woman pregnant- especially the first time- we know approximately when our old life will end- our very selves will become a being known throughout human existence as MOTHER. How does one prepare for the end? Normally, by focusing on how to care for the baby to come- look to the new beginning.
But I had the luxury of being a self-absorbed modern teenager. Of course I read up on basic baby care, and biological and psychological baby events to be aware of. But the whole concept of being a parent was beyond a veil I could not comprehend, never needing to flex my responsibility muscles beyond getting homework in on time or calling my grandmother on her birthday. Our culture encourages a latent growth of maturity.
So my focus was on myself and how this change would impact my life and what I was giving up and had to change and face- how my own end was near. Whomever I thought I might become as an adult would die and some new person, "mom", would take her place. I did not plan for the future at all- focused on the fading past. I left practical matters of food, shelter and stability to my boyfriend, who shouldered that load- not without permanent cracking and damage of his own.
By the time I was actual caring for a newborn, I could only focus on the present. I lived day by day- this moment's tears. My new path was begun at a crawl, taking in the new scenery inch by inch. A whole new world- not unlike a toddler on a walk. Only aware of what was inches from my face, wrapped tightly in my protective arms.
And when I thought of what I hoped for my baby's future- I did not have the confidence, maturity or perhaps- dellusion- to have a specific plan for her. The author of the book walked pregnant through the halls of Harvard, dreaming of what her child could become, and how she would guide him along the way. My only hope, holding on to my rounded belly, was that I wouldn't accidentally break it. I had never been a child to be trusted with precious things.
As my child, and then children grew, and my ability to focus widened, my parenting became more specific and practical- goal-oriented. I saw different paths my children could take and realized (not without a glow of power) that as "mother" I could alter their future landscape. And in the tradition of motherhood, I interfered. I distracted them from inappropriate terrains, destroyed dangerous thruways, and dragged them kicking and screaming from roads I decided were not going to be a part of them. Did I make mistakes? Probably. Do I feel guilty? Not really. All the road signs and gentle (and not-so-gentle) shoves they receive under my care will make them unique. They'll survive, and more than that- thrive. All because of what I firmly understood from day one in my rebirth.
My bar as a parent is ridiculously low and spiritually high. I want my children to know- no matter what- that they are loved. Everything else is just filler- but love, that shall be a truth woven within every inch of their growth and development. Ironically, my only prayer as a new mom was the exact one that this wise, very adult mother from that book came to realize, after both her children traveled to adulthood: loving them - and them knowing they are loved- is the only parenting rock to stand on- love is the only prayer that lasts.