Getting over the "P" word and what frightens me most about being a mother

Thelma asked me two questions a year ago while I was still pregnant with baby. "What excites you most about becoming a mother?" and "What frightens you most about being a mother?" To be honest, I had (and still have) a lot of fears. Mothers are wonderful, but I didn't grow up wanting to be one.

Not that I didn't want to ever become one, but more, I didn't spend my time seeking out opportunities to hold small children or babysit. Being a mother was something that might happen in the future sometime, but I wasn't counting down the days. (I felt the same way about marriage.) I was a kid and liked being a kid. I led a beautiful, if somewhat selfish, existence.

During my playtime, Barbie was never pregnant. Rarely did she say "yes" to Ken's inevitable marriage proposals. Pregnant was a 'four-letter-word' to me as a kid. Perhaps because my mom and then chubby teenage sister had been mistaken for being pregnant and cried on their beds for a long time after it happened. Perhaps because I had heard it spoken of in whispers. Whatever the case, it was up there with the "D" word, "shut up!," and "idiot."

Thus, as you can imagine, I was shocked and embarrassed when my cousin, whom I rarely saw, came into town and played Barbies with me. In her play-world, Barbie was already married to Ken, and in each scenario Barbie was "pregnant." She used the word like some people use helper verbs . . . ubiquitously.

I remember when I told her it was a bad word. We were in the backyard, lying on our stomachs under the low-hanging limbs of a pine tree. It was morning and very bright outside. She held Flight Attendant Barbie in one hand and once again Barbie was pregnant. "I don't think you're supposed to say that word." She teased me to such a point I finally ran inside and asked my mom for the facts. I'm sure it came as a surprise to Mom that I had so misunderstood the word.

So there I was last year, very pregnant and lounging on a blanket in a public park with Thelma and my husband. It was near sunset and we sat in the shade of a large blue spruce enjoying a rare summer breeze. She asks me these two very simple questions.

To her first question, I remember feeling excited about having a clear, defined purpose yet again. I'm sure my response was centered on this point. The feeling of clear purpose is something I missed since the mission. Only instead of investigators with histories, mistakes, accomplishments, and cultures of their own, I would have different responsibilities with a new, pure little soul. A boy I would get to meet and keep alive and happy and well. He would be a blank slate whereon he would soon be writing his own history. That's what excited me.

What I said frightened me most apparently came as a surprise to Thelma. I said it frightened me most that the day might come when a child of mine would choose to reject the gospel of Jesus Christ and/or turn their back on the Church. I know this will sound completely understandable to many of my blog-readers. But I also realize it will hit as somewhat . . . worthy of ridicule . . . to others.

She asked me why. Why of all things to be frightened of, why that?

As so often happens to me, the feeling ran deeper than the words I had to express it. My response, if I had one, probably tied to my strange family background. But the more I've considered her question, the more I realize how true my response was, and how deep my conviction is rooted.

Part of my fear is when people de-value the gospel and its teachings in their lives, they seem to lose appreciation for things that are pure and holy. I've seen the definitions of those two very simple words muddled by those who no longer have the light to tell the difference. Appreciation for pure and holy things includes having affection for living things and nature; being resilient in our promises to ourselves, others, and especially God; remaining sensitive to the internal light of what's right and what's wrong.

At times when our appreciation slackens and our light dims, we lose sight of our own best self. The person we are (a child of God) and want to become. That is the person in us that listens to conscience and doesn't explain it away, that hungers for truth and right. When we dismiss our conscience, we forget among other things why we need to be kind and noble. I speak here from personal experience and observation. I want my boy to love true and right things and to appreciate the pure and holy.

Revolving philosophies and political agendas go in and out of the realm of "cool" and "socially right." It makes me tired trying to keep up. But the gospel doesn't change. It reinvigorates me.

I have plenty (plenty!!!) of faults. I'm not surprised if you can list some of them now. But those are mine and not the gospel's nor the Church's. I hope that my child will grow to understand that, as well.

We are living through a dearth of faith. At times I see it creeping in upon myself. Hopefully by embracing the gospel fully, when the time comes to tap into the deep recesses of our souls, we'll  find wells of strength to carry us through times where love, hope, and kindness are scarce.

This is what I wanted to explain to Thelma. And this is why my greatest fear about being a mother is having myself or my child turn away from the Gospel.

And also how I overcame my shame of the "P" word.