Loving Motherhood

Years ago I started asking myself, whenever faced with a major decision, “Dianna, if you were on your deathbed, which choice would you most regret having given up?” I think the catalyst must’ve been my biological clock and deciding when to start having children. I married David with no intention of giving up on a career in acting for awhile. My goal at the time was to try to get an agent, establish myself in a modest career (ironic considering acting has little to do with modesty), and then start having children. At least then I’d have some connections set up for an occasional acting stint here and there. I had already lost interest in the idea of moving to a big city and trying to become a professional stage actress. I just thought that a little TV/film work or a play here and there would be a great goal (and difficult enough to pursue).

Then a strange series of events occurred. I was eating lunch with a work supervisor who, upon learning that I was 26, asked if I was planning on having kids soon. I told her that we were waiting for the right time, and, before I mentioned that my husband and I expected to start trying when we hit our 2 year anniversary (then at least 8 or 9 months away), my supervisor began sharing how much she loved having a younger Mom. She talked about how they’d play sports together and talk about dating, etc. Then she shared about a friend who had been trying with her husband for over 4 years to get pregnant. Though it wasn’t the first time I had heard of couples trying for a long time without success, it suddenly hit me that there was no guarantee that I’d be able to choose exactly when I could become a mother. The thought was sobering.

Moreover that conversation planted a seed. A month or two later, I started to have anxiety at bedtime when I was supposed to take my birth control pill. As I’ve mentioned here before, I actually had nights when I found it difficult to take the pill. While holding a pill in my right hand, I’d grasp that wrist with the left hand and bring the hand to my mouth. I finally approached my husband, who was genuinely surprised that I was the one instigating the baby conversation. After a few discussions and a little bit of prayer, however, I started my 3 month detox from the pill in preparation for a possible pregnancy. When the 3 months was up, the “chance” game started, and one month later I woke David up at 2:00 AM to show him a positive pregnancy test. He was very cute, by the way. I dragged him from our bed down the short hallway to the bathroom to show him the test. He leaned far forward (too sleepy to see straight?), stared for a second, stood back up and said, “Congratulations, Sweetie.” Then, after a millisecond kiss and a smile, he flopped himself back into bed for some more sleep.

And that’s how it started. Nine months and 65 pounds later, Sophie was here, and the world turned upside down - in a good way. She was gorgeous with fantastic hair that stood at least 2 inches tall. She slept, ate, struggled with nursing, tolerated me who struggled with nursing, welcomed the eventual bottles, cried a little, grew a lot, and brought a tremendous amount of hope and joy into our lives. Then, after another healthy but emotional pregnancy, Aidan arrived with a little more drama than his predecessor. Yet the scariest drama passed, and we suddenly had two tender little individuals in our home. Sophie doted on her new little man, and Aidan loved being doted on. They are special little friends, albeit occasionally antagonistic friends (aren’t we all sometimes?). Then, about 9 ½ months ago (after a scare to defy the others), another little spirit arrived into our lives, and David’s and my joy has reached an all time high so far while our confidence has tanked. That’s not to say that we’re not happy and grateful, but, as everyone says, three is hard. It’s especially challenging when you have an active social butterfly for an oldest child, an independent, easily overlooked middle child, and, well, a baby. I don’t think Ian’s more clingy or anxious than most babies. He’s pretty much a textbook baby. He’s just a baby, though, and his needs are more immediate. So other children have to wait a little longer. (Though we do seek balance at all times).

All of this is hard. It’s rewarding, yes. I really am having the time of my life. They are each so amazing to be with and deserve so much love. But it’s hard too. Sometimes I have a great attitude, but I often struggle with the chaos in the house, the challenges of meeting physical and emotional needs, concern about the future, and my own inadequacies. I’m pretty sure we’re done, and it’s a devastating feeling to have. I’ve heard that many people who eventually have 4 or more children really struggled when they hit #3. For them it was a threshold into the crazy life. Yet I believe we should stop here just after the threshold, and that hurts. I’m not at peace with that yet, but I really think I’d be fooling myself if I thought that I could be an effective mother of 4 children. I’m sure most of my friends and family agree with me, but that doesn’t really help to be honest. :) So we have a little bit of working through some emotions and finding answers ahead of us.

My purpose for this post, however, was not to hash up my conflicted emotions over whether or not to have more children (and whether I need to endure more of this ridiculous IUD that puts me at a hormonal disadvantage beyond my usual hormonal disadvantage). The purpose was to say that I love being a mother, and I’m so grateful to even be in this dilemma. When I think of the incredible women in my life who deserve to be mothers and are having to wait for one reason or another, I am humbled. I love being able to focus my energy on others. I love their little limbs. I love their brains and how quickly they absorb things. I love their simplicity and their complexity. I love seeing who they are becoming. I love having relationships with them, working for their trust, and working to retain it. I love being their biggest fan, coach, and listening ear. Sometimes I cry because of them. Sometimes I cry with them. I have said “I’m sorry” about 5 million times, and I expect to say it at least 50 million more times in coming years (though I’m determined to repent and keep the need to a minimum). I adore the hugs, and I have a hard time not laughing when I am yelled at (though I still cry at times). I love to make them laugh and to laugh with them. Finally, I love knowing that my life revolves around love - giving love, teaching love, learning love.

Back to that deathbed speech I mentioned an hour ago, when I ask myself, “Dianna, if you were on your deathbed, which choice would you most regret having given up?” Every time the answer is the same. I won’t have regrets. Motherhood is far greater than anything I’ve had to give up or postpone so far.

Here’s sending out love, prayers, and respect to all of the amazing and imperfect Moms and Moms-to-be whom I know. You are doing, have done, or will do the greatest, most important, most rewarding work in the world.

Or, as Captain Taggart would say, “Never give up! Never surrender!”


In the spirit of confession/commiseration, I thought I'd share that my afternoon as a mother was a bit lame at points. Sophie came home from school, and the walls came tumbling down. I'm not saying that it's her fault. I haven't been great at given her a steady routine (thanks to chronic fatigue, AKA having a baby), and she has gotten into the habit of being completely non-compliant and argumentative. I burst into tears about three times and felt pretty hopeless after a while. And only just a few hours after posting this optimistic, hopeful epistle! It's like going to the temple during a difficult time in your life. You feel so wonderful and hopeful inside, and then within an hour of returning home, non-temple life comes crashing back in. Gotta love it! Okay, Captain Taggart, I'll keep plugging along...