BY JOELLEN COLLINS
I never thought I would be a walking cliché, but I’m afraid I am. I admit I am a sap about babies, new mothers, first steps, Halloween costumes, unasked-for affection from a child, and certainly grandmotherly pride. I always ask to see pictures of friends’ babies or grandkids, weep at commercials showing college graduates thanking their parents, love to hold teeny bundles of infant softness, and ooh and aah at the generosity shown at baby showers. I crave spending time with children, especially, of course, my grandchildren, far enough away from me that I am taking a hunk of time off this winter to be nearer to them. I still find my best happiness in sitting with my family, most certainly the grown women who are now not only prized daughters but best friends and confidantes.
All this being noted, these emotions have intensified, even though my maternal instinct should have dimmed with menopause. I am no longer teaching high school or working on a daily basis with children of many ages, where I felt fulfilled when being with youngsters who had just learned something new, thanked me for helping in an emergency, and even chose cute pet names to call me.
Why is that? Well, first I have experienced the truth of the adage that says that even when children grow up, they are still your babies: your love doesn’t fade as they become adults. So I can treasure my relationship with my daughters and their families. I have been lucky that they have become productive and generous adults. Even if that hadn’t happened, there would always have been a place for them in my heart.
Secondly, I am trying new ways to keep younger people near. One reason I so enjoyed being in a local musical was the presence of sweet, thoughtful pre-teens and teenagers in the cast. They were tolerant and supportive of me. Also, I plan to see more of children in happy circumstances by having a party presence available for me to interact with them at birthdays and other celebrations.
Re-reading a poem I wrote years ago, I found images and metaphors involving my maternal instinct.
Here is one (describing a woman who enters an orphanage):
“One night she visits the nursery…
The air is thick with devotion,
Several babies…reach tiny arms
above the eyelet lace of bassinets.
The room resounds with need,
Her mother hunger more than theirs.”
Another:
“No need for mansions, tributes to success,
when she can rest beneath a tree and see Orion,
when she can feel sand give way to fingers and toes and hips,
when she can light a fire, recline against a dune, use her lips
to form a kiss, \
or hold a baby in her arms.”
And:
“She thinks perhaps it is the sweetest sound she’s heard,
like a child asking to sit on her lap.”
Yep, I’m still a cliché.
