Motherhood Matters

So in case any of you have tried to visit this blog recently and have discovered you were unable to access it, please don’t take it personally. I actually privatized it and then didn’t invite anyone to read it. I took a brief hiatus to re-evaluate my blogging future and have decided to pull the plug on my short-lived blogging career. During my break from blogging, Phil and I got some surprising and wonderful news - we’re going to be parents again! Here’s how the story unfolded….

A couple of weeks ago my pregnancy suspicions became strong enough that I bought a pregnancy test which revealed a little blue plus sign in no time. We scheduled an ultrasound and went to find out exactly how far along we were since we honestly had no clue. Phil and I made a little wager - my bet was that we were less than 6 weeks along, and his bet was that we were more than 6 weeks along. Within moments of the tech beginning the ultrasound, he asked if we were interested in finding out the gender of the baby that day! I almost fell off the table and I laughed to myself as I watched Phil’s brain reel to figure out just how far along this tech suspected we were in order to assume he’d be able to tell the gender. With some quick measurements, we learned that we were 16 weeks and 1 day along! We almost died of shock (as you can imagine) and I’m not sure I’ve ever felt more dense in my entire life. How does someone go that long without knowing they’re pregnant!? Anyway, needless to say, sometime around the end of Nov. we are going to have our hands even more full than we currently do as we welcome a little girl into our family. With all of that going on, I have determined that blogging is something I can give up - at least for the time being.

Please do keep in touch however, and feel free to see our latest by visiting our flickr photo account at www.flickr.com/photos/thesharps. I’d love to hear from you and will continue to check in on your blogs as well.

We just returned from a week-long trip to Hawaii. It was fantastic, and while we loved sharing it with Noah, I definitely learned why parents sometimes vacation without their children. Upon returning home, the long nights and inconsistent sleep patterns have become even uglier than while we were traveling. After weeks of sleepless nights, you could say my attitude has waxed and waned a bit.

Last night, for example, Noah’s screaming began around 2:30 and finally ceased after 4:30. I had tried just letting him cry, then had checked on him, soothed him, changed his diaper, and tried to leave him alone again - none of which had proved effective. The crying finally subsided when I gave up and fed the inconsolable child. As I did so I admit to thinking, “I swear I will never have another child. Why do we do this? I’m about to lose my mind.” And then, as quickly as Noah’s little belly was filled (the same belly I’d purposely filled at 11 pm before I went to bed and couldn’t imagine was really empty again so quickly…) he began giving me those darling little smiles and jabberings moms live for. My bitterness could only last so long under such conditions, and my irrational and resentful complaints melted away under the power of my little man’s smile.

Sometimes in those desperate moments we forget that kids really are little joy factories (as Phil affectionately refers to them). They produce deep joy for us as parents, but also for all the many people whose lives will hopefully be blessed by their existence. After being stopped in my selfish and bitter tracks this morning by this little reminder, I wandered back to bed no less sleep-deprived, but with a slight smile on my face and a drastically better perspective.

Mothers have many virtues, but being emotionally detached from their own views and willing to discuss possibilities beyond their own experience, unfortunately aren’t usually near the top of that list of virtues - especially in discussions related to how they are raising their children.

I’m absolutely sure I’m as guilty of this as anyone else, and therefore don’t mean to sound critical, but I must say that if I had a dime for every time a parenting discussion between a group of generally mild-mannered mothers went sour, I’d be a very wealthy woman. It’s understandable. What’s closer to a woman’s core than the way she chooses to raise her children?

Today the topic was vaccination, but it really could have been anything. The leading two mothers addressing the topic were none other than a home birthing non-vaccinator, and the wife of a bio-chemist who makes vaccines for a living. Interesting, eh? To say the least. The content of the discussion was less interesting to me however, than the tone of the discussion - probably because “discussion” is a strong word for what unfolded. It was more like a fairly loose debate. The real tragedy in my estimation however, was watching the other 5 or 6 moms in the group totally shut down. Prior to the introduction of this pretty controversial subject, each woman had taken turns chatting, sharing, and enjoying. Once the conversation got into gray area, two sort of dueled it out (neither seeming particularly interested in what the other had to say) and the rest mostly withdrew. I, not willing to be either apathetic or particularly heated, piped up with an occasional, “Well, it is a complicated topic,” or the good old, “None of us really know the whole story though, do we?” I’m not trying to paint myself as the ultimate mediator by any means, I was as uncomfortable as anyone else participating in or witnessing the social faux paux.

I left feeling a bit defeated though, not because of who “won” or “lost” the debate, but because I felt like we all lost. We lose when we can’t listen to each other. We lose when we’re defensive and consider that any ideas different from our own must be foolish or ignorant. We lose when we fail to see others as resources, and rather view them as adversaries. I wonder what it takes to be able to discuss sensitive things honestly and without judgment and then confidently but humbly act according to our own conscience? I guess that’s no small thing though is it? In fact, it might be one of the single most important life skills we can ever attain. Until then, the war of words continues, and unfortunately, I think we all lose.

My heart goes out to, and my mind is baffled by single mothers. There have been times when Phil was out of town for just a week and my little parenting world crumbled. How does anyone do it by themselves day after day and year after year? Phil is not only immensely helpful when he’s home, but he is my sounding board and largely my source of emotional stability, perspective, and balance.

On Sunday, after a rough night of sleep, Noah missed both his morning naps and was a bit of a bear at church. Phil was out with him the first hour, and I missed nearly all of the second and third classes. I ended up driving Noah around the block for the last 20 minutes in fact. Needless to say, by the time Phil joined us in the car I was fairly exhausted and a bit worn down. Unscathed by my state, my dear husband pleasantly drove us home, made us lunch, and lovingly insisted I take a nap while he did the dishes. Oh, and he was happily singing some silly song while he cooked away in the kitchen. The man is my sanity (which is scary considering that a quick delve below the cool collected Phil Sharp facade reveals a super goofy, anything but sane individual…).

I am so grateful for the strength and joy I have in my life because of my incredible companion. I’d be indebted enough to him for making me a mother and providing the means for me to stay at home with Noah. On top of that however, he is an immense well of love, service, and encouragement as he truly inspires and enables me to be the mother I want to be. What a catch…

Go ahead and take a look at the gash on Noah’s head and the complementary bruise on the bridge of his nose. I like to call them “Negligent” and “Mother”. Not that I intended to give him these two little friends for April Fools Day, but sometimes foolish things just happen.

He only sat in the very corner of our very deep couch for a couple of minutes, but apparently that was long enough to topple off and land squarely on his little plastic ark sitting innocently on the floor beneath him. If that wasn’t bad enough, he landed in such a way that he actually remained impressively balanced on his head on aforementioned ark until I could scoop him up and assessed the damage. Ouch.

As horrible as I felt about this little incident (enough so that I sort of lost it and cried when Phil asked about the battle wounds) I couldn’t help but remind myself that mothers unfortunately do a lot of damage they don’t intend to do to their children. Now don’t get me wrong, this isn’t in any way a cynical excuse for my recent or future behavior. I am committed to doing my very best at all times as a mother, but how many times do moms get blamed for the emotional or physical state of her children? We’ve all heard people blame their mothers for their temperament, their weight, their personality flaws etc. The list goes on and on. Unfortunately, when you sign up to be a parent, even when you give it your absolute all, you sign up to be blamed for your children’s issues at one point or another in their lives - either when they’re five or when they’re fifty. Just ask God, he gets blamed for all kinds of stuff.

So even though I still feel terrible about my negligence and my poor son’s head, I must admit that I gained some sick but valuable perspective in remembering that a little scratch and bruise unfortunately aren’t the worst damage I’ll do.

Welcome to the world of teething. Our little man has spent the last few months drooling like crazy, his nose in a perpetual state of ooze, and chewing on anything and everything he could get his chubby little hands on. He finally broke tooth #1 this past week, but all in all the poor kid has been pretty miserable. And yet, this process of getting his teeth is something that he’ll be so grateful for at some later date. Can you imagine a life without any teeth? Unless you’re from the backwoods of Northern Maine, you’ve probably always had teeth and taken for granted their constant help. So, I’m certain the day will come when my sweet son will be so glad he has these teeth that are currently wreaking havoc in his little world. Yet today he writhes in pain and cries his eyes out because the process is a painful one.

How often do I writhe, fight, and throw a fit because a challenge I’m facing is difficult and the process hurts a bit? If only I could glimpse the future, I might see how grateful I’ll be when I’ve arrived at the end of the pain and am reaping the benefits of the suffering. Or even better, maybe I can get to the point where I can feel the gratitude even before I have the hindsight. Now wouldn’t that be something? It’s interesting to think of the way time heals pain and blurs suffering. In fact, we almost forget that something as easily taken for granted as teeth, came at what seemed at one point in our limited experience, a pretty high cost to pay.

I have this strange tendency to try to be everyone’s mom. I don’t know if that stems from growing up in a large family and doing lots of nurturing all my life, but I have sort of an overactive maternal instinct I think. A bizarre experience this week (of which I’ll spare you most of the crazy details) made that blaringly clear yet again.

I spent most Tuesday running around San Francisco with Noah and my other son who happens to be a 45 year-old homeless Latino man who is deaf. You see, my affinity for treating people like they are my children led me to spend the better part of my day trying to help Jose connect with some job resources (this nurturing tendency isn’t all bad, but definitely needs to remain in check). Near the early afternoon, we found ourselves outside the Neighborhood Mission Homeless Shelter. Now, I’ve done lots of social service work in my life. I’ve spent plenty of time volunteering with the homeless and I even applied for a job with a homeless shelter when I first moved to the Bay Area. I must say, that I have never felt like I did yesterday as I stood there with my 6-month old strapped to my chest. Talk about giving new meaning to the term, “Mama Bear.” I was on edge, uncomfortable, and ready to bolt.  As we stood there, a man who’d previously been talking to himself really loudly addressed me and said, “Ma’am, I’ve been in the homeless community for 16 months and I’ve never seen a baby in the homeless community.” He was tall, with dark hair and silver-capped teeth, and he stood with a lunch sack in one hand eating guacamole with the other. As he inspected us a bit he said, “Wait, you’re not homeless are you?” [Looking more closely] “And that baby’s not homeless is he?” I shook my head no, and before I could explain he said to Noah, “That’s right, you’re not homeless and you never will be will you?” I immediately felt the strongest, almost visceral reaction as my heart seemed to say, “No, he won’t ever be homeless because I’m his mom.” I wanted to ask the man where his mom was, and where Jose’s mom was, and where was the mom of the woman wearing the “Oh no I’m 40!” t-shirt? I felt this irrational need to explain that I couldn’t be a mom to all of them. I really did feel like my maternal heart might burst right out of me. I felt it so strongly in fact, that I almost forgot that Jose, nor the guy with the guacamole, nor the sweet woman who cooed at Noah inside the shelter, ever asked me to be their mom. That realization sort of woke me out of a really stressful dream I seemed to be having and reminded me that being Noah’s mom is the best use of my mama bear fire. I can certainly help people out, but there’s no reason for me to try to be everybody’s mom. Living that way is just a recipe for ulcers by age 30.

We’re a little bit reluctant to start down the road of big plastic toys for our children. We’re sort of minimalists to begin with, and living in small CA apartments also tends to encourage limiting one’s possessions. However, if you are thinking of purchasing a big plastic toy (our friends affectionately refer to them as “baby buckets”) we recommend the Jumperoo by Fisher Price. Phil’s company, IDEO, designed it and gave us one, and I think the following infomercial will convince you too…

Cindy and Jose are friends of ours who have special needs. Cindy struggles with some learning disabilities and Jose was born deaf. As I interacted with both of them this week, my heart ached again to realize how limited their support and resources have been. Both had difficult upbringings and are now doing their best to lead successful lives. Cindy is married, but she and her husband struggle with chronic unemployment and other challenges. Jose has no family or home and has a very limited grasp on English, Spanish, and ASL. I can’t even comprehend what their lives have been like. Aside from how challenging their lives have been though, I found myself wishing Cindy and Jose had been born into families where they would have received the support and resources they deserved.

Obviously, nearly every expectant parent deeply hopes their child will be healthy and have all of his or her faculties. I can’t help but think however, that with all that Phil and I have been given, surly we have enough to share with a child who may need some extra help and support. After all, one child with special needs in our family would mean one less in a home where he or she might be neglected or deprived. I don’t know what lies in store for our family, but if a child with disabilities is in the cards, I would hope to accept that privilege with humility, perspective, and gratitude. I know it would be one of our greatest challenges, but as my “Bitter Sweet” theory goes, that would also mean it would be one of our greatest blessings.

[Note to loved ones reading this post: I say all this now, but if that opportunity does come and I find myself questioning whether or not I'm up for the challenge, please remind me that there was a time where I not only felt we could handle it, but that I declared we'd gladly embrace it!]

Lest I be misunderstood from my last post…I undoubtedly believe I have the best job in the world. I get to look at these faces all day, after all. I challenge anyone to find anything sweeter.