Maternal Instincts

Some people are maternal creatures by nature. They feel joy and pleasure knowing there is a legacy in their arms, perhaps wondering what their part is in the greater scheme of things. They enjoy changing diapers, feel significant when they can soothe a tummy ache or dry a tear from a chubby, pouting face.

Others run away screaming from children as if they were the carriers of the bubonic plague. The very idea that a small child is dependent entirely upon them frightens them more than being stuck in an abandoned mansion with Freddy Krueger or Jason from Friday the 13th. They would take a machete any day over diapers, grabbing hands and tears.

I am a member of the first group. I love children. To me, I was created in this world to be a mother, regardless if it's natural or adoptive. I love all children and anxiously anticipate the day when I can experience it with my own. While I experience the frustrations, the fatigue and the exasperation when a child won't stop crying, when they hurt and I can't fix it, I know that it will be worth it in the end.

There is difficulty when two people who are very close are divided by this significant difference. I coo when I see a baby, my friend Sarah looks at them like they are made of fragile glass that will crack if they are jostled too quickly. While she thinks they are absolutely adorable, and while she enjoys looking at them, the very thought of having a child in her arms causes her to shake, her eyes darting from left to right looking for the nearest exit.

Sarah and I conducted an 'experiment' last week. I wanted to see if any 'maternal instincts' would surface in Sarah during the uncomfortable experience of holding my infant niece, Rebecca. For background information, Rebecca is the most adorable, gorgeous, well-behaved child I have ever had the pleasure of being with, so I knew that she would be the perfect “beginner-baby” for Sarah. For an hour leading up to the fateful moment, she was a wreck. She kept asking questions and she nervously laughed. It was clear she wasn't comfortable with this idea, but she would do it for this assignment.

We had a nice little visit with my niece. Sarah was cautiously watching me handling Rebecca like she was made of stainless steel and unbreakable. It was definitely making her uncomfortable as her eyes grew wide and an occasional grunt would escape her lips when I flipped Rebecca upside down to elicit a peal of laughter.

I was calculating the perfect time to shove the child unsuspectingly into her arms. The moment came when she had to be changed - Sarah was lulled into a sense of security as she watched me handle the baby for over an hour without hinting at the fact that she'd have to hold her. Perhaps she thought I had changed my mind. After she was powdered, changed and cuddled, I picked her up, looked at Sarah, and said, "Ok Sarah, take the baby".

"WHAT?! No, no, no. That's ok! Shouldn’t we be downstairs, like, on the couch where I can’t drop her?" she stammered, hands up, walking backwards. I was certain her survival instincts were kicking into overdrive.

"Well you're going to have to because I'm letting go of her!" I faked, shoving the wriggling, smiling baby into her arms.

"Oh god, Oh god, Oh god," I could hear her mutter as she awkwardly tried to hold Rebecca.

After a few moments of showing her the proper way of holding a child, with my hands protectively nearby, ready to grab Rebecca should Sarah not be able to handle her, she went and threw a wrench into the situation.

"Ok, now you stand over there and watch me hold her by myself missy!" she exclaimed, nodding to the furthest point in the room. I knew I had to do it; it was part of the experiment. I was hoping, however, that she would forget.

I walked over, put my back against the wall and watched, convinced I wouldn't have a problem with my best friend holding my niece.

My palms started to sweat. There was this uncomfortable sensation spreading in my chest - like a fire had started and was blooming out over my skin, moving it's way down my arms and legs. My stomach started to get butterflies and my mind flipped me an image of Rebecca lunging for Sarah's earrings (like she usually does to others), and Sarah letting go.

I thought I was having a heart attack.

It seemed like an hour. It was only two minutes. After those agonizing 120 seconds ended and I took Rebecca back into my arms, I looked at Sarah. She seemed slightly uncomfortable, but not to the point that she wanted to stop holding her. She almost seemed disappointed that she had to give her back.

"That wasn't so bad!" she said, almost to herself. Maybe she was having a revelation.

I had Rebecca back in my arms, and I was happy. That's all that mattered. I never wanted to let her go again. I was uncomfortable about my discomfort in that situation. I should have been fine, and I should have trusted Sarah to be safe with Rebecca. It made me ashamed that I didn’t have enough faith in my best friend to hold a baby for two minutes. I was having my own internal revelation.

Rebecca looked up at me, drool rolling off her wide, grinning face and then looked over to Sarah, the same mile-wide smile for her. She was none the wiser that both Sarah and I had experienced something that neither of us was expecting.

Sarah and I walked out of my brother's house, both feeling a little more different than we had when we walked in, whether for better or for worse, we weren't entirely sure.