There have been multiple things that might have served to define me as a mom (i.e. getting up in the middle of the night, getting peed on, sticking my finger up her nose to pick her boogs, etc.) but the one, true moment where I finally felt like a “mom”, heart and soul, was the other night.
I was watching “The Big C” and the main character – diagnosed with terminal cancer, she hasn’t shared the news with anyone – is talking to her teenage son. Desperate to spend quality time with him before the inevitable, she pulls him off the bus on his way to soccer camp with an impassioned speech about what she used to do when he was a baby and how she’s therefore entitled to spend time with him by any means necessary, blah blah blah. Whatever. The point is, I’m listening to this speech and all of a sudden, I’m tearing up like a bitch because… I get it.
I know exactly what she’s talking about when she describes the feeling she got when she put her face up close to his when he was a baby. I get it when, at the end of the show, she takes a pillow and lies down on the floor next to her sleeping son just to be close to him. I get it. And my kid’s not even one.
At that moment, I realized how my life has changed forever… how I have changed forever. It’s not the diaper changes and the feedings and the family vacations and how much she looks like me. It’s that feeling in the pit of my stomach that can only be described as severe, desperate, painful, blissful, unconditional love for this thing, this kid.
My first thought after that moment? “I’m so totally screwed.”