I played soccer for exactly one season. I was a big four-year-old with a pink and turquoise soccer ball and I was the Belmar Bobcats goalie. That fall of 1993, my brother (who actually had a bit of talent and coordination) also played soccer and was the goalie for the second grade team. One weekend we had games scheduled for the same time at different parks so my parents decided to split up so that each of us could have one cheerleader. Fair enough.But of course, I wanted both parents waiting for me with a capri sun and orange slices, making a tunnel with their arms for me to run through after the whistle blew. I whined, trying to get mom to promise her allegiance to me but instead she apologized and told me that she wished she could just "cut herself in two" so she could watch both of us.
My imagination drew a picture of mom with a hatchet above her head cutting her perfectly in two-- hotdog style. I can still see into my kindergarten mind's eye-- the picture of (half) my mom hopping down the field on one leg like Richard Scarry's Lowly Worm to cheer me on. I sincerely did not understand why she wouldn't do that for me.
Two decades later, I still wish that magical mom-hatchet existed.
As my maternity leave drew to a close I expected that my transition would be difficult. In Mary Allison's first four months of life we had only been apart two hours total which I would quadruple in a single day! Among the feelings I expected- sadness, guilt, resentment, uncertainty, fear and excitement. And although I've had touches of all of those, thoughts of extreme gratitude dominate my first few weeks back at work.
From a very young age-- even before my short-lived peewee soccer career-- I knew motherhood was for me. But, I could not have predicted the immeasurable joy that comes each day as Mary Allison's mom. My prayers of thanksgiving overflow.It took much longer for me to stumble into my other vocation as a behavior analyst... and I love it. I have become somewhat obsessed with the science of behavior and take people-watching a little bit far sometimes. We moved to New Jersey so Chris could complete a masters degree at Princeton and I figured that, given the high rate of autism in central New Jersey, I could probably scrounge up enough clients to make ends meet, completely unaware that one of the oldest and most renowned autism intervention programs in the world was only 15 minutes away from our new home. After applying three times I finally got an interview and a job.
There are still days that I close the door behind my sleepy baby with a big gulp of mom-guilt and teary eyes. There are days that I resent sitting in a closet attached to an annoying breast-pump, losing precious instructional and curriculum time. There are nights that are too late and mornings that are too early, wrinkled skirts and pony-tails. Afternoons are never long enough but always include a long, baby-wearing walk, a swing set and toothless grins. How can I resent motherhood or my career when I have been given so much in both?
Mary Allison, I hope you never feel short-changed by my career. I hope you never wonder where I've gone or why I've left you. I hope that you know that I will always come home to you and never stop thinking of you while I'm away. I hope you come to love people with disabilities through my career and that you learn the importance of hard work to help others.
Like my own mom, I wish I had a mom-hatchet to cut myself in two.
