The Paradox of Motherhood

Not long ago a newly-engaged young woman asked me a thought-provoking question. “What do you love most about being a mom?” Her eyes glittered, fresh with the hope of  someday–after choosing wedding colors and the perfect white dress–embracing the season in which I am living.

Rather flippantly, I responded “Little warm bodies curled up on my lap as the sun rises, dancing to toddler tunes in the middle of the kitchen, and the fact that a rainbow popsicle can make the whole day special.”

The questioner raised an eyebrow, and then said, “So what do you dislike about being a mom?” I thought for a moment, and with a chuckle replied, “Little warm bodies curled up on my lap as the sun rises, dancing on a sticky kitchen floor to toddler tunes and the fact that the biggest highlight of our whole day may be a rainbow popsicle.”

The soon-to-be bride nodded politely and moved on to simpler topics like the weather and the dilemma of where to hold her rehearsal dinner. Perhaps she made a mental note never to engage sleep-deprived moms of five in conversations that require introspection. But for once, my circular response wasn’t due to the thick mental fog that seems to stunt my ability to articulate intelligent adult thoughts without utilizing highly-descriptive and mature terms like “Yucky,” or “Poopy.” This time, my perplexing answer was simply an honest acknowledgment of the surprising paradox of motherhood.