Raising a Blended Family


on May 22, 2013

****warning: this post is sad. Scary. Maybe a little graphic. Don’t feel like you have to read it, I just needed to process it****

It feels good to be back to blogging again. It means I have somewhere to turn when I need to process things.

I was dumb enough just now to watch a news clip about the mom and baby who died in the Oklahoma tornado. Mom pulled over and tried to seek shelter in the deep freezer with her baby, but the whole building collapsed on them and they didn’t make it.

The baby was a boy, the same age as Pax.

I just can’t imagine.

What must their last moments together have been like? How must it have felt, to be absolutely powerless to save herself, let alone her baby boy? Did the baby have any idea of what was coming? How could he have?

I have thought about this in more detail than I probably should. More detail, certainly, than I would have a mere seven months ago, or four years ago. More detail than I would have before motherhood.

Motherhood makes you so, so, scary naked vulnerable. It’s like I have my heart on the outside of my body and it’s walking around in those tiny human beings of mine, beings who it is my natural job, instinct, and privilege to protect and love. I can’t imagine not being able to do that job. To think that any harm could ever come to them- kills me.

Therein lies the paradox of motherhood, I think. That your children are simultaneously the source of your greatest joy, and also have the possibility of being the ones who cause you the greatest sorrow. That motherhood has the ability to make you feel like you are on top of the world, and to simultaneously make you terrified of every single dangerous thing within it.

Reading things like that on the news makes me want to grab my children and hold them close. Put them in a bubble and ensure they never come to harm. Thankfully, moments of such sorrow as this one are generally few and far between. The pain is balanced out by the joy.

But the possibility of pain is, at least in my mind, ever-present. Most of the time it is pushed to the back, overlayed by the normal worries and happiness of everyday life. But it’s there. It makes me a little more cautious. It makes me think harder about consequences and dangers. It makes me more vulnerable than I’ve ever been.

I am a mother. And I’m going to go kiss my daughter and snuggle my baby tight now, and every day.


3 responses to “Vulnerability

  1. meridith says:

    It’s so true – greatest joy and greatest sorrow. I stopped reading the news not too long ago because my heart just broke for all the children experiencing something terrible. Hold them close is right. Very, very close.

  2. More Than Words says:

    This post completely sums up the heartache I’ve felt watching the OK news coverage this past week. I can’t possibly imagine how very scary it must have been for that mother and her baby. You’re absolutely right in saying that it is instinctively our job as mothers to protect our young. The panic she must of felt was unbearable I’m sure.

    Like most mamas I know, I’ve been holding my baby girl a little tighter this week.

  3. weddedwife says:

    I saw that report on the news and felt sad that it happened. I felt sad for their family. There are so many harmful and sad things that happen that directly touch children’s lives everyday across the world. This natural disaster has changed so many people’s lives. Makes me pause and think.

Leave a Reply

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: