Posted on February 27, 2014
by Megan Minneman Morton
Ever since we brought our new daughter home, her older
brothers have been the first to tell me when she is crying, whimpering, or
smelling a little suspicious. “Somebody
needs you,” they say. I have no idea how
this little saying started, but at first it sort of annoyed me. I could be enjoying a quick shower… “Mommy,
somebody needs you. The baby is
crying.” Or, sitting down for a second,
quite aware that the baby was beginning to stir from a nap…. “Mama, somebody
needs you!” Okay! I get it already! And not to mention that the newborn’s needs
pale in comparison to the needs of 2 little boys. Somebody always needs a snack, a band-aid, a
different sock, ice cubes in their water, a NEW Paw Patrol, a stream of snot
wiped, a hug, a story, a kiss. Some days
never seem to end, and the monotony of being “needed” can really take its toll.
Then, it all started to hit me, they need ME.
Not anybody else. Not a single
other person in the whole world. They
need their Mommy.
The sooner I can accept that being Mommy means that I never
go off the clock, the sooner I can find peace in this crazy stage of life. That ‘Mommy’ is my duty, privilege and
honor. I am ready to be there when somebody needs me, all day and all night. Mommy means I just put the baby back down
after her 4am feeding when a 3-year-old has a nightmare. Mommy means I am surviving on coffee and
toddler leftovers. Mommy means my
husband and I haven’t had a real conversation in weeks. Mommy means I put their needs before my own,
without a thought. Mommy means that my
body is full of aches and my heart is full of love.
I am sure there will come a day when no one needs me. My babies will all be long gone and consumed
with their own lives. I may sit alone in
some assisted living facility watching my body fade away. No one will need me then. I may even be a burden. Sure, they will come visit, but my arms will
no longer be their home. My kisses no
longer their cure. There will be no more
tiny boots to wipe the slush from or seat belts to be buckled. I will have read my last bedtime story, 7
times in a row. I will no longer enforce
time outs. There will be no more bags to
pack and unpack or snack cups to fill. I
am sure my heart will yearn to hear those tiny voices calling out to me,
“Mommy, somebody needs you!”
So for now, I find beauty in the peaceful 4am feedings in
our cozy little nursery. We are perched
above the naked oak trees in our own lavender nest. We watch the silent snow fall and a bunny
scampering across its perfect white canvas.
It’s just me and my little baby, the neighborhood is dark and
still. We alone are up to watch the pale
moon rise and the shadows dance along the nursery wall. She and I are the only ones to hear the barn
owl hooting in the distance. We snuggle
together under a blanket and I rock her back to sleep. It’s 4am and I am exhausted and frustrated,
but it’s okay, she needs me. Just
me. And maybe, I need her too. Because she makes me Mommy. Some day she will sleep through the
night. Some day I will sit in my
wheelchair, my arms empty, dreaming of those quiet nights in the nursery. When she needed me and we were the only two
people in the world.
Can I enjoy being needed?
Sometimes, sure, but often it is tiring.
Exhausting. But, it isn’t meant
to be enjoyed every moment. It is a
duty. God made me their Mom. It is a position I yearned for long before I
would ever understand it. Over a 3 day
weekend my husband couldn’t believe how many times our boys kept saying,
“Mommy. Mommy. Mommy”!
“Are they always like this?” he asked not able to hide his terror, and
sympathy. “Yep. All day, everyday. That’s my job.” And I have to admit that it is the toughest
job I have ever had. In a previous life
I was a restaurant manager for a high volume and very popular chain in Palm
Beach Gardens, Florida. A Saturday night
at 7:30pm with the expo window overflowing with dishes, a 2 hour wait, and the
electricity inexplicably going out has got nothing on a Tuesday, 5:00pm at the
Morton house. And let me tell ya, South
Florida diners are some of the toughest to please. But, they are a cake walk compared to
sleep-deprived toddlers with low blood sugar.
Once upon a time, I had time. For myself.
Now, my toe nails need some love.
My bra fits a little differently.
My curling iron might not even work anymore, I don’t know. I can’t take a shower without an
audience. I’ve started using eye
cream. I don’t get carded any more. My proof of motherhood. Proof that somebody needs me. That right now, somebody always needs
me. Like last night…
At 3am I hear the little footsteps entering my room. I lay still, barely breathing. Maybe he will retreat to his room. Yeah right.
“Mommy.”
“Mommy.” A little
louder.
“Yes”. I barely
whisper.
He pauses, his giant eyes flashing in the dim light.
“I love you.”
And just like that, he is gone. Scampered back to his room. But, his words still hang in the cool night
air. If I could reach out and snatch
them, I would grab his words and hug them to my chest. His soft voice whispering the best sentence
in the world. I love you. A smile curls across my lips and I slowly
exhale, almost afraid to blow the memory away.
I drift back to sleep and let his words settle into my heart.
One day that little boy will be a big man. There will no longer be any sweet words whispered
to me in the wee hours. Just the whir of
the sound machine and the snoring husband.
I will sleep peacefully through the night, never a worry of a sick child
or a crying baby. It will be but a
memory. These years of being needed are
exhausting, yet fleeting. I have to stop
dreaming of “one day” when things will be easier. Because, the truth is, it may get easier, but
it will never be better than today.
Today, when I am covered in toddler snot and spit up. Today, when I savor those chubby little arms
around my neck. Today is perfect. “One day” I will get pedicures and showers
alone. “One day” I will get myself back. But, today I give myself away, and I am
tired, and dirty and loved SO much, and I gotta go. Somebody needs me.
