The First Lesson of Motherhood

I sat on the toilet lid with the tell-tale test in my hands. I’d thought about this moment for months, imagining some wave of contentment and indescribable joy washing over me at the sight of a positive result. In this less-than-idealistic experience, I gracelessly urinated on a narrow fibrous stick and found myself staring with cantaloupe-sized eyes as urine slowly progressed through tiny plastic windows. Two pink lines were left in the wake. There they were in all of their glory, proclaiming I was pregnant. I sat waiting for the maternal love to kick in; it didn’t. Instead, I was on the verge of hyperventilating, shaking in complete disbelief (and slight terror).

I had imagined from the beginning of my marriage that this moment would be much tenderer. I’d suspect I was pregnant and clandestinely take a pregnancy test. With absolute maternal bliss, I’d break the news first to my husband, Jamie. The revelation would occur with all the drama of a made-for-T.V. movie, ideally on a noteworthy holiday like Christmas or Father’s Day. We would hug and cry and kiss excitedly about our new future unfolding. We’d keep it a secret, I’d thought, and enjoy this knowledge just between the two of us for a while.

In reality, it was the end of July without a holiday in sight. Jamie was away at work, and I found myself immediately phoning a person with pregnancy experience – my sister-in-law, Sandy, mother of two. So much for my movie-script fantasy; I needed confirmation from a reliable source.

“Well, if there are definitely two lines, you’re definitely pregnant!” was her reply upon my speculation about the test’s accuracy. “You really don’t need to take another test.”

Sandy lovingly congratulated me, and I got down to business. Ignoring the advice I was given, I took a second test, then a third. I now had six pink lines of evidence (and no more urine to give for eight). Even the most skeptical jury would have found me irrevocably guilty of having a bun in the oven. So there I sat on the toilet lid, newly pregnant, alone, and disillusioned. I was painfully aware that the moment of a lifetime had come and gone without the anticipated fanfare. My first pregnancy was utterly entrenched in everyday life.

As a hopeless romantic, I’d spent time concocting fantasies about the manner in which extraordinary things should appear in my life. I would become disenchanted when life events failed to materialize the way in which I expected them. I lost a lot of joy from experiences because I couldn’t appreciate them simply for their unadulterated happening.

My pregnancy discovery occurred unceremoniously over three years ago, yet it is one of my most beloved memories. Looking back, I think I learned the first lesson of motherhood that day: genuine memories are entirely unscripted. The most magical moments catch me completely off-guard, appearing without my intervention.

Through my motherhood travels, I’ve learned that my most treasured memories are those that appear in the midst of everyday living. They sneak up on me and yell, “SURPRISE!” My daughter’s first steps, first time saying “mommy,” and first smile are some of my most precious memories. Yet none of these was arranged like a symphony; they all happened surreptitiously on average days in between diaper changes and breast-pumping sessions. I didn’t plan for them at all.

Over the last three years, the first lesson of motherhood has restored a sense of wonder and pure excitement in my soul. I spend more time enjoying the real life I am given, and less time directing it in Hollywood-style scenarios. I look forward to the surprises of each day without any expectation of how they should arrive. I hold no grandiose standards for how the truly wondrous must unfold.

The end result is untainted bliss at the exact moment a memory is revealed to me. My life has become so much richer, my memories more vivid. I am free from the false expectations that steal away my joy from everyday miracles. Instead of longing for the picture-perfect fantasy, I experience authentic happiness knowing the most poignant moments of my life can occur at absolutely any time. And they do when I merely let them.