Shoots and Ladders

I lost my voice yesterday which has never happened to me before. I don't think it would normally amount to a hill of beans except that I'm fairly certain my toddler possesses an acute ability to sense weakness and is exploiting my vocal inabilities with Wile-E cartoon precision. I begrudgingly trundled out of bed this morning and began the slow march into the kitchen to find my son elbows deep in our garbage can. I opened my mouth to let out a mighty Mom yawp of "NOOoooooooo!" but no sound came out. Baby C began digging further though last night's discarded left overs as I lunged towards him arms a-flailing. I love my husband for allowing me to sleep in but he affords our child with "trust" - a trust that he wont, I don't know, go ass over tea kettle into our garbage can if unsupervised for thirty seconds. So thus far my voicelessness has alerted me to the heavy presence of the word "No" in my vocabulary (popped up as being one of my top three faves once C became mobile). In the last 24 hours I've replaced "No" with a whole lot of wild gesticulating (which, so far, has been slightly more effective than "No" in that it makes C drop into hysterics and stop whatever "No" inducing behavior he was previously engaged in).

On a more metaphorical level, though, this inability to speak has only added fuel to the whole "disappearing Mom" fire. You see, one of my worst fears was realized last week. I went to pick C up (after a particularly grueling day at work...it's worth noting) when his daycare provider tells me:

"He calls me Mama".
Eye twitch.
"What?"
"Mama. He's started calling me Mama...they tend to do that with all women they spend their time...."
But I was no longer listening. Tough to smile and nod when you're mid-stroke.

On that particular day my husband (let's call him "G") was with me.  I think this was one of those moments that God had everyone come together just for comic relief - because as I was starting to internally melt down I was well aware of the similar expression migrating across G's face. Not because of the implications that were furiously pinwheeling through my head ("I'm an absentee mother!" "He loves her more than me!" "I need to quit my job!" "He's going to completely forget who I am!") but because he was beginning to appreciate the amount of calming down he was going to need to go through to talk me back from the maternal ledge. He gets the same look when I start listing things that need to get done around the house...bills to be paid...groceries we need...it isn't pretty. So that really lays into the crux of the whole work/life balance argument. Before C I was on a steady course, routines were easy to keep, I felt as though I was ascending the rungs of that professional ladder. Now it's a game of shoots and ladders. Ladder ladder ladder...shoot (double ear infection, fifth round of Augmentin). Ladder ladder ladder...shoot (daycare closed: family emergency). Ladder ladder ladder...shoot (rendered voiceless by mysterious toddler virus). Baby C is and always will be my priority...how could he not be? Motherhood is the only thing that can send you gleefully down a path of unknowns and upheaval *think fourth degree tears down-under (yeah, I went there), sleeping in two hour increments for nearly a year, sitting in a client meeting while doused with baby vomit and unidentified goo stain on pants and rocking/swaddling/shooshing out the wazoo to end the fourth consecutive hour of infant wailing*. Honestly, none of that matters - in fact, in retrospect, it's all very funny and endearing. Because he's this beautiful little soul - and the very best thing that has ever been in my life. He's the embodiment of my incredible love for my husband. His smile, his laugh, can instantly erase any disastrous thing that has happened - because they're the only things that matter. Which is why my garbage picking snot-monster simply can't call another woman "Mama". I. am. Mama. It's an exclusive station in life - and while I'm quite sure he knows I'm his mother, it just means so much more to me than everything else out there. All the crap that gets me in a tizzy each day. He's what matters. So my jealousy over my son's seemingly easy distribution of "Mama" trumps even that of my husband's penchant for "Hottest Beach Bodies" and "101 Sexy Pop Tartlets" tv on VH1. They are not child appropriate (aka "Let's see what they'd look like after three years of law school, one baby and no trainer/dietician/liposuction"). I'm really still just learning to navigate the pitfalls of profession v. parenthood - and while I'm not sure if you can really have it all at this stage of the game, I'd venture a guess that it's possible. I have to believe that. Because I will always tell my son that he can be anything he wants to be - and that if he works hard enough, his dreams are reachable. And for it to apply to him - it can apply to me too, I think. It's what my parents always told me - so it has to be true, right?