Last Sunday after Evie woke up from her nap, Drew and I were talking to her in her room (MF was still asleep) and Drew suggested he go get the fetoscope. A fetoscope is a modified stethoscope used to hear the baby's heartbeat. It was mostly used before Dopplers were invented. Anywho, you put the earpieces in your ears and the "bell" on the belly. Then, you place your forehead on the flat area you see in the picture to help transmit the sound through the bone in your skull. This allows you to hear the baby's heartbeat. After Drew demonstrated it and found Ward's heartbeat, Evie knew she wanted to do it. She had the most fun and Ward even kicked (or punched) up at her a few times. (Please excuse my dress but remember it was Sunday afternoon.) :)
Seriously, I have reflected recently on mothering and what a special priviledge and responsibility it is. To have a life grow inside of you and have it totally dependent on you and experience its first breath and cry is incredible. Then, to be able to mold and shape that life is a wonderful and sobering responsibility. It is only by God's grace that I am able to answer this calling but I am grateful He has allowed me to.
I received a forwarded e-mail about mothering once before having children and thought it was nice. Then, I received it again after having children and realized it was quite true. I think is sums up mothering fairly well and thought you might be interested.
Being A Mom
We are sitting at lunch one day when my daughter casually mentions that she and her husband are thinking of "starting a family." "We're taking a survey," she says half-joking."Do you think I should have a baby?" "It will change your life," I say, carefully keeping my tone neutral. "I know," she says, "no more sleeping in on weekends, no more spontaneous vacations." But that is not what I meant at all.
I look at my daughter, trying to decide what to tell her. I want her to know what she will never learn in childbirth classes.
I want to tell her that the physical wounds of child bearing will heal, but becoming a mother will leave her with an emotional wound so raw that she will forever be vulnerable. I consider warning her that she will never again read a newspaper without asking, "What if that had been MY child?" That every plane crash, every house fire will haunt her. That when she sees pictures of starving children, she will wonder if anything could be worse than watching your child die.
I look at her carefully manicured nails and stylish suit and think that no matter how sophisticated she is, becoming a mother will reduce her to the primitive level of a bear protecting her cub. That an urgent call of "Mom!" will cause her to drop a soufflé or her best crystal without a moments hesitation.
I feel that I should warn her that no matter how many years she has invested in her career, she will be professionally derailed by motherhood. She might arrange for childcare, but one day she will be going into an important business meeting and she will think of her baby's sweet smell. She will have to use every ounce of discipline to keep from running home, just to make sure her baby is all right.
I want my daughter to know that everyday decisions will no longer be routine. That a five year old boy's desire to go to the men's room rather than the women's at McDonald's will become a major dilemma. That right there, in the midst of clattering trays and screaming children, issues of independence and gender identity will be weighed against the prospect that a child molester may be lurking in that restroom. However decisive she may be at the office, she will second-guess herself constantly as a mother.
Looking at my attractive daughter, I want to assure her that eventually she will shed the pounds of pregnancy, but she will never feel the same about herself. That her life, now so important, will be of less value to her once she has a child. That she would give herself up in a moment to save her offspring, but will also begin to hope for more years, not to accomplish her own dreams, but to watch her child accomplish theirs. I want her to know that a cesarean scar or shiny stretch marks will become badges of honor.
My daughter's relationship with her husband will change, but not in the way she thinks. I wish she could understand how much more you can love a man who is careful to powder the baby or who never hesitates to play with his child. I think she should know that she will fall in love with him again for reasons she would now find very unromantic.
I wish my daughter could sense the bond she will feel with women throughout history who have tried to stop war, prejudice, and drunk driving. I want to describe to my daughter the exhilaration of seeing your child learn to ride a bike. I want to capture for her the belly laugh of a baby who is touching the soft fur of a dog or cat for the first time. I want her to taste the joy that is so real it actually hurts.
My daughter's quizzical look makes me realize that tears have formed in my eyes. "You'll never regret it," I finally say. Then, I reached across the table, squeezed my daughter's hand and offered a silent prayer for her, and for me, and for all the mere mortal women who stumble their way into this most wonderful of callings.
Here is the whole group warming up and having a sound check.
When Drew first asked Evie to come up and she was set and "in position" he said, "This is my daughter, Evie, would y'all please make her feel welcome?" The audience clapped and Evie politely bowed. She's a natural! By the way, notice the screen in the background of this picture. After her two songs, Evie came back down to sit with us and sing along. Mary Fran was very supportive saying, "Yeah, Evie!" when her big sister went on stage.
These two pictures are from the end of the show when Evie, Ruthie, and Mary Fran joined in for the last song, "I'll Fly Away." It was so wonderful to see our family up there and hopefully instill in them a love for music.
Ruthie is accompanying her daddy (aka Uncle Dustin) with a little dancing.
