We have four kids. Each one, an individual and as different as the stars. Providing us with a daily dose of refreshed objectivity as it pertains to their rearing. Their eyes serving as a reflecting pool into the past and a peek of what the future holds. Their movements and actions, reminding us of the culpability we as parents played in their raising.
As a father we live in awe at the wonderment and the unpredictability of the womb and the subtlety of the changes taking forth before us. Ours is to be a source of comfort and strength as her body morphs and tortures her insides. Powerless to relieve her pain and discomfort us as fathers ricochet around like pinballs in an arcade. But this is not about us, it’s about them.
From the dawn of time women have borne the full brunt of the cruelty Mother Nature lays on them during the summer months as their bellies swell giving no respite. During the winter they find nominal relief from the heat produced from the belly. At night a mother tosses and turns seeking comfort in a bed that mere weeks ago was friendlier to nocturnal pursuits.
A mother’s love has the power of a freight train and the unbreakable gravitational pull of earth. Traits that provide solace and comfort to her family. They are the center of their universe that all others orbit.
The mother of my kids reminds me of the power of God and random nature with which he strikes.
I remember the time she announced to me how fortunate she was her belly hadn’t gotten as big as a woman she knew carrying twins at the same time. “At least I’m not four feet around.” I nodded my eyes moving off of her and into the coffee cup in front of me. Speaking my thoughts would not have been good. At the height of her pregnancy with our twins, she could take a full size dinner plate and lay it on top of her outstretched belly while she ate.
Her eyes bore into me with laser like precision. “I’m not that big!” I nodded, keeping my eyes downcast a smile touching the corner of my eyes.
Taking two steps she reached into a bowl on the bakers rack, took out the measuring tape and stepped over to me.
I shook my head. “You're fine.”
Standing up I placed the tape around her until the ends overlapped each other. I tried to stifle the giggle I felt coming on.
“What does it say?”
“Well your right your not four feet around.”
“What does it say???”
“Forty seven and a half.”
“But not forty eight right?”
The giggle, I was trying to stifle turning into a full fledged laugh.
“Jerk. Give it to me because I don’t believe you.”
I thought she might cry when she did it herself.
With each birth her strength bolstered my own and over the years as our kids have grown I see in them the grace and love she has instilled in them through patience and nurturing.
Mothers are in our world what the sun is to the earth. Sonya my wife is no exception. Though my work takes me away this year I am no less comforted by her existence in my life. Without her I would not be the father I am today.
So on this day, love them, hold them, thank them and know without the metal of a mother's love we would all be lost to the incongruities of the universe.