First Published: 2008-04-17
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Mama Bear
Franca Temolo-Jones Email » Share Delicious
Photo:Chris Servheen/USFWS
I see myself as an easy going person, although I don't think my husband agrees with me. When I mentioned my easy going ways to him the other day, he burst out laughing and said - 'no you're not.'
The nerve. Of course he's wrong.
Not only am I laid back, I'd even go so far as to say I'm laid back to a fault. If a car cuts me off in traffic, I don't yell out obscenities or gesture wildly. I'm more apt to just shrug it off--life is too short. If somebody wants to change a dinner date arrangement, I say 'no problem'.
Since having children, my 'oh la la, come what may, you first - no really, you first' demeanor isn't what it used to be. Despite my husband's earlier off-the-mark assessment (you'd think you'd know a person after fourteen years!), I have still retained my easy-going ways, it's just that since Motherhood I've discovered a side to myself that I didn't know existed. Quite frankly, I rather like my new found intensity.
Call it the mother bear syndrome. You know that built-in mechanism that mothers have for wanting to protect their children whether they're the size of a peanut in their tummy or a linebacker for the BC Lions. The mama bear syndrome says: 'I will throw myself in front of a train for you--it doesn't matter that you shouted 'I hate you!' and slammed your bedroom door.
What is this strange phenomenon that causes dogs to break free from chains to get to their puppies and women to develop Herculean strength to free their child from being pinned under a two tonne truck (or something to that effect)? You hear these stories. Is it the universe ensuring that future generations can carry on; or perhaps a coping method to get through poopy diapers, sleep deprivation and surly teenage years?
I was thinking about this a while ago when a certain situation arose that got my mother-bear back up. Let's just say it involved a school bus and a bully (let's call him Andy). Andy's mission was to make the bus ride home as unpleasant as possible for my son, Adrian. It didn't help that Andy was two years older.
I wasn't happy about this. We tried coaching Adrian, contacted the school, the bus people and then finally as a last resort, Andy's parents. Awkward. We were tactful. They were great about it. It helped the situation a little bit but not really. Everyday from 2:45 to 3:30 my stress meter would go up, 'I wonder how he's faring on the bus now. Hope he's okay...'
One day he was clearly not okay. Andy had crossed the line. He punched Adrian hard enough to make him cry (and he's not a crier). I think his pride took the beating. I knew it was bad when he retreated to his room for the rest of the night (something he never did).
That's it. Enough is enough. Having exhausted all my options, I was going to go to the main source. I would have a chat with Andy. I was going to tell him that hitting was unacceptable and that we have to try to get along and help one another. We were part of a community and...you get the picture.
That's what I told myself.
The next morning, Andy arrived at the bus stop looking sheepish and guilt-ridden. I calmly walked over, maybe it was the way he smirked at me combined with all those months of frustration - I don't know - but something inside of me snapped.
I crunched down to all of his 4'10" stature, looked him straight in the eye and thus began my 'chat' which was comprised in soprano-like fashion, a cross somewhere between Joe Pesci and Meryl Streep in The Devil Wears Prada.
Me: 'Andy, you don't have to like Adrian but if you lay so much as a finger on him again - I will call the Principal - I will call your parents - and I'll do it so fast, your head's going to spin (pause, laser beam glare). You got that?'
Andy: (squirming and looking down) yeah...
Me: GOOD!
Did I actually say that? So fast your head's going to spin? What had become of me? This was so out of character. I was (as the English like to say) gobsmacked by my reaction. I admit it, my emotions had taken over. I hadn't handled it well. But wouldn't you know it - the bullying stopped that very day (go figure) and dare I say, I sense little Andy has had a renewed respect for me ever since. I'm not condoning my tactless tirade - I'm just saying - it proved to be rather effective.
But that pales in comparison to what took place with the birth of my youngest child. For me, it was the mother of all mother bear situations. My pregnancy started out like any other until a routine blood test at twenty-four weeks indicated otherwise. When your doctor orders to see you pronto and starts out the conversation with a 'I don't want to freak you out but...' that's not a good thing.
What followed was a blur of top-notch neo-natal specialists (who looked too young to be top-notch neo-natal specialists), weekly amniocentesis, countless ultra-sounds, more invasive procedures, and concerned pitying looks from family and friends who told me they were praying for me. 'You're so brave' they'd say while in my private moments I felt anything but.
The doctors told me that the baby would be born sick - very sick, in fact. The first three days would be critical but with light therapy and medical intervention (if need be), all would be well. And oh, by the way, because the baby's condition is rare, so rare that they didn't have any data, they were basically...sort of...well...'a-guessing' (okay, I'm paraphrasing that last bit)
Turns out they were right about everything but the three days. After he was born, Kieran hovered in and out of the danger zone not for three but twelve days. For the first week, I believe it was eight days, I did not sleep. And when I say I did not sleep, I mean, I. Did. Not. Sleep.
Somehow, in my traumatized, hormonal, mama bear way, I had convinced myself that I had to watch him 24/7 or something tragic was going to happen. (Like just by the mere act of staring at him through the glass as he lay in an incubator was going to make everything okay...I know, I know...) So, I stared and I prayed. And I prayed and I stared. Fervently - forgoing sleep for days on end
This from a person who with the onset of videos and now DVD's has never seen a movie in its entirety in twenty years. If you plonk me down in front of a TV and there happens to be a couch and a blanket in the vicinity--I'm toast.
Eight days without sleep. That wasn't me. That was some sort of super-natural, mama bear sensation that had enveloped my mind and body. When I look back to those first few weeks of his life, I think, If there was ever a time I knew, I mean really knew, what it meant to be a Mother - it was then.
Today, I'm happy to report that Kieran will be turning seven soon. He is beautiful and strong and (if I may use another English phrase) 'full of beans'.
I don't have a clue what encompasses the mama bear instinct; where it comes from, how it manifests...I just know it's a powerful force. Some would even say it's a force to be reckoned with. Just ask Andy.
2008-04-17