About a year ago, I'd heard through the grapevine that my mother-in-law was impressed by the type of mother I'd become. She said something along the lines of, "Knowing Rosana before kids, she just wasn't very...mommy-like."
Despite my lack of natural, inborn mom logic, less than a year into my marriage,I was knocked up. My daughter -- Marley, aka, The Colic Baby -- was born at 36 weeks, promptly announcing her presence with authority: No one will sleep! Put me in the bouncy chair and bounce me dammit! Harder! Don't even think of putting me down either! Get up, lazy woman, get up!!! Breastfeeding painful? Well, get used to it because I...am...hungrrrry! I learned the true meaning of pain and suffering. But, still... no mom logic.
Went to ride the merry-go-round at the park for the first time with my then 2-year-old. Let her ride it three times in row before my nausea took over. Mother of all temper tantrums ensued. Carried squirming, screaming child to the car while simultaneously getting kicked in the gut. Mortifed? Yes. Shocked? Absolutely. Shaken to the core? Most definitely. For God's sakes, mom logic, where the hell are you?
Sitting in a cab in traffic. One-year-old son suddenly and inexplicably vomits everywhere. I start pulling out wipes, diapers, tissues, anything to mop up the mess. I contemplate taking off my shirt and using it to accelerate the cleanup. If I carry Jack, maybe people won't notice I'm not wearing a top? F' you mom logic, F' you!
Life with children is filled with various stresses and catastrophes that vary in size, duration and urgency. I'd strived to be able to logically handle and control each situation. I wanted to always be prepared for anything and everything. I wanted to be, like my mother-in-law said, "mommy-like."
It took me a while to come to my senses. I would never be June Cleaver 'cause, hello people, June Cleaver wasn't actually a real person.
My daughter and I regularly create couture gowns out of scarves and feather boas. She has very specific and particular ideas about color, length and detailing. She leads, I follow. She prances around in her princess regalia while her brother and I applaud. Hello, mom logic!
My son is learning to walk and whenever he gets up and takes several Frankenstein-like steps without falling, his sister and I cheer, clap and whistle. Group hug. He is our champion. Looky here, mom logic comin' around the corner.
I've been a guinea pig for my 4-year-old daughter, allowing her to slather lip gloss on my stomach and perform a mock-sonogram with a play phone (I'm not kidding). "Look up there," she says, pointing to some invisible fake monitor. "You can see your baby!" "Oh my goodness!" I say. "The baby is beautiful! Thank you, doctor!" Mom logic, you are f'ing hilarious.
I'll drop whatever I'm doing to read a book, play a game, or just talk. I want to cuddle on the couch, give a million kisses, and hold hands. I want to go down the slide with both kids on my lap. I want to play ring-around-the-rosey and eat jelly beans. I want to hear, in the middle of the night, "Mommy. I had a bad dream," and know I can fix it. I want to share ice cream and dissect all the different reasons why Bob the Builder is "the best."
It goes by way too fast and pretty soon we'll be dealing with broken hearts, SATs, and becoming men and women. I want to bathe in the simple joys of mothering young children -- they only need you for so long.
And, that, my friends is my mom logic.