Mama Bear Syndrome

No doubt all of us mother's have felt it. That surge of protectiveness that sweeps over us, flood like, when our baby cubs come near danger. Your son darting out in the street to chase a ball. You loose track of your children somewhere in Costco, and mild annoyance turns to panic when your attempts to find them turn up empty. An eerie looking man eyes up your daughter in the grocery store.

No doubt this instinct is ingrained deep into the psyche of every Mother throughout history. Amounts of this instinct may be highly variable, causing some mothers to tie their children to themselves through the use of furry-faced-back-pack-leashes, home schooling and fierce play mate matching, while others may feel the Internet and T.V. celebrities be the best babysitter and let their children run free in the supermarket. Regardless of how we rate the danger and how much attention we give it, we all have basic desires to protect our children physically, emotionally and mentally from danger.

But danger can take strange and uncanny forms. Forms that, in some lights, may not appear to be danger. For example, a father.

My apologies to anyone's sensibilities that may be offended by reading this, but my danger radar goes completely buck wild whenever "he" calls her. Raising her on my own for 3 years has made me sensitive to a fault, no doubt, about the men in her life- especially those who seek to label themselves as her daddyio. We've had a few interesting characters over the years (and secretly I sincerely hope not many more in future years) and they all have been left behind and forgotten quite easily (most easily by her, more often than not) - - except this one. He keeps lingering in the doorway like an unpleasant stray dog that you hate to shoo away but for the pity in his hang-dog expression of remorse. And he's actually related to your child. Okay, maybe that example got a tad convoluted.

The long and short of it? - - how I wish I could have a different sperm donor for my daughter!

Whoops - did I just say that out loud?

It's hard. Damn hard. Especially when I have the pleasure of having the oh-so-sensitive, perceptive, observant Eva as daughter. Here is the rough dialogue of our conversation tonight at bedtime:

Eva, crying into her hands.
Me: "Eva, what's wrong?"
Eva, won't look at me, cries harder.
Me: "Sweetie, what's the matter??"
Eventually, she calms down enough and I can make out the sobs.
Eva: "I. just. miss. my. father."
Me, hoping to just distract. "That's ok. Don't worry. Look at this story, isn't it funny?"
Eva, having none of it, continues to cry. : "Why doesn't he yove me?"
What?? Now, I'm crying too.
Eva: "I just want him to yive with me. I just want to see him."
Me, at a complete loss for words, just holding her in replace of the words that I can't find.
Finally, all I can calm her down with is this: "He does love you. You will see him."

And inside I am cursing something, him, fate, life, whatever brought me to this point - to this moment, here, where my 3 year old comprehends too much about feeling the loss of not having a father. And thinking that he better make my words come true, and do I trust him enough with such a fragile promise? How can I possibly place that small trust on the shoulders of someone who once betrayed a much greater trust placed in him? It flies in the face of logic!

Please don't shake your head, roll your eyes, and sigh "drama queen!" up to the heavens. The simplest of relationships that the lions share of you out there, not all, but the lions share of you, take forgranted every day is the one that my daughter cries for, at age 3, and the one that I can NEVER give her. You mothers out here, who give your babies their biological father? Do you understand how I yearn for that, simplest and most basic of relationships for my daughter? When your children cry for their father, as Eva did tonight, do you call out to your husband in the other room and say merely: "She wants you tonight, honey!" How many nights have I wished to do just that? Say those words - and have someone actually come!

Not with "him", of course. I don't long for "him". More like I long for what I "thought" I had. What I "thought" I was giving Eva when I became pregnant with her - in fact, what I didn't even realize could be TAKEN away from her when I became pregnant! I see you, you wonderful families out there, in this picture perfect scenarios that stay with me like mental photographs: one of you holding your toddlers hand while the other tends to the baby; one of you, in sheer exhaustion and exasperation, gives the screaming baby to the other to deal with; you who draw your arms close around each other and pose in perfect smiles in front of the camera - I see you. I envy you in ways you can't imagine. Oh - what you give your children! What a gift! It is a gift - and please, oh please treat it as such!

No doubt many of you out there have far greater things to worry about than I. I don't mean to patronize, guilt trip or condescend. I realize that Eva not having her real father living with her is not going to cause either of us to drop dead. Oft times I look at the trials of others and mine look shockingly minuscule.

My daughter's tears, however, I cannot stand. Her anguish is my anguish. Her pain my pain - an almost physical pain, burning in my chest, deep in my stomach and along down my spine. (And no, it's not a spider burrowing into my neck, for those Simpsons lovers out there). Any mother would wish they could take away the pain of their children. But I can't take this pain away, can I? I can only teach her to deal with it, mold it, turn it into a manageable reality for her to understand and accept.

I suppose that's the way with any trial in one's life. What's that great quote? - 'Lord, give me the strength to accept the things that I can't change, the courage to change the things I can and the wisdom to know the difference.' Something like that - don't quote me. But it holds true and is a kind reminder to anyone who deals with trials in their life, regardless of quantity or quality.

Also, the strength to kick "his" ass, might come in handy too. ;-)