Being brave
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| Photo credit |
When I took the stage to read these words, I was afraid that
no one would laugh at the funny parts. I wondered if anyone would
connect; if it would resonate.
While I
couldn't see the faces of many from the spotlight, I could see the shining eyes
of my friends and family.
My voice did shake, near the end, and I felt the empathy of the other mothers in the room, and the
power of sharing our stories.
This is my essay from the Austin Listen toYour Mother performance on May 9.
Being Brave
Here’s the
thing: I’m afraid of bees. Scorpions.
And the flying monkeys from the Wizard of Oz.
But when
my son was three months old, I did the bravest thing I’ve ever had to do: I
trusted my intuition and hired a stranger to take care of my son. I reached out and handed him to her and took
a leap of faith. Motherhood requires a
certain level of bravery that I never imagined, and what may be easy for one
mother is scary for another. In this
case, putting my son in her arms feels like a memory in slow motion.
I stared
at the fresh-faced, smiling young woman standing before me. I had interviewed her three times, requested more
than one background check, and called every single one of her references. Twice.
She
appeared to be confident, holding her arms loosely at her sides, and waited for
me to make the first move. I still
remember her fuzzy lavender sweater and the freckles sprinkled across her
nose. In the interviews, her freckles
reassured me, as though they were tiny marks of trust and kindness.
Surely, I thought, serial killers don’t have freckles.
I knew it
was time. I handed her the jewel I
valued most in the world: my baby boy. I
watched her cradle him, and I turned and strode to my home office before she
could see my tears. Every day for a
week, I closed the door and cried after I gave my son to his new
caretaker.
This was
not the plan.
The master
plan was for me to stay home and take care of our kids like my mom did. Not to stay home and work and listen to
someone else make my son giggle and comfort him when he cried. However, by the time I was several months
pregnant, I had to face the reality that quitting my job wasn’t an option just
yet.
So I
carefully and thoughtfully picked out a day care center and plunked down the
deposit. I thought I could be brave; I
thought I was ready. But on the day he
arrived, I looked at his sweet face and the fear came roaring back. I can’t
do it, I told myself. I can’t leave him there.
And so,
with less than two weeks of maternity leave left, we decided to hire a
full-time nanny to work in our home, and I dove headlong into the interview
process.
When I was
a kid, a “babysitter” was someone who came over to make paper bag puppets with
my sister and me while my parents went out to dinner. A babysitter was someone who ate all of the
Pringles and EZ Cheez and glued herself to the couch for quality MTV viewing
after the kids went to bed (or maybe that was just me).
A nanny, I presumed, must be someone who
babysits full time. I learned, quickly,
that when I used the word “nanny” in some circles, some people would look at me
like I just said, “Darling, we’re taking the private jet to the Hamptons with
the NANNY so we can drink gold-flecked martinis all day on the yacht.” Which is simply not true.
We prefer
margaritas anyway.
Whatever
you want to call her, you’re bringing someone into your home to be an extension
of you, and choosing the right person is not easy.
After that
first week, I wiped my tears and saw the love she was giving our son. I saw how tenderly she held him and took care
of him. In those first months, I often
cried when I could hear him crying, and I gripped the armrests of my office
chair to keep myself from going to him.
I had to let her do her job – after all, that’s why we hired her.
If you’re
lucky, the person you hire to take care of your child becomes part of the
fabric of your family.
If you’re
smart, you will pick your battles with her wisely.
If you
know what’s best for your child, you will smile when you hear him tell her, “I
love you!” as she walks out the door.
If you’re
ready to swallow your pride, you won’t freak out when your son calls you by her
name by mistake.
If you’re really
lucky, your child will fall in love with the caretaker you hired. I’ll always be his mom. No one else can take that job.
I’ll
always be the one he looks forward to seeing at the end of the day. I’ll always be the one who wakes up with him
in the morning and puts him to bed at night.
Bravery
doesn’t come easily to me, but I made it through this one, and have more love
in my son’s life as a result. When I
decided to hire a full-time caretaker for him, I was afraid he would be angry
with me. I was afraid I would miss so
many things. I was afraid that he
wouldn’t want me at the end of the
day. None of that happened, because when
I am with him, he knows I am his one and only mom.
The brave
one. The sometimes not-so-brave
one. The one who always loves him more
than her fears.
* * * * * * *
Many
thanks to my editors: Leigh Ann Torres
and Devon
Corneal. Much love, sisters.
More LTYM
essays for your inspiration:
And lastly, much love to the women whom my son has loved, and have given him so much love: Jannah, Brittney, Rebecca, and Nohemi. You will be a part of our family for always.
Love,
Love,
