The Mommy Machine

I'll come right out and say it. I am amazed at the tenacity, strength, character, resilience, compassion, unconditional love, and energy in the face of sheer exhaustion that my wife has shown these past five and a half weeks. This little bundle of love we call Frederick is a heavy drain on his daddy. Having grown up in a home where for one brief instant there was a baby girl, I am unfamiliar with the newborn creature.

My wife is not. She came up in a home where, in the course of her life she helped raise six infants. She knows babies. She is heard to say, however, that she never really had this experience before. Meaning she never had to stay up all night with one of them and be constantly on the ready to provide all the needs of a brand-new human being. That is where the Mommy Machine kicks in.

It is a slim character compared to the one that strained in the stirrups. It is a constantly moving, multi-tasking, coddling, and entirely empathetic character who despite the warnings, has never forgotten me. I was told to prepare to have her attention divided between me and the baby, with me receiving the short end. This has never happened.

This tiny, albeit growing, pink, screaming, eating, pooping machine is so new to the human experience that he has no concept of other people or their comfort. The Mommy Machine doesn't care. She loves this little creature and thinks every cry, even some of the violent screams are adorable. I concur so long as I have my ears plugged. She is able to look past everything in him that I instinctually consider faults. HEY! I've been programmed people! The concept of a new human being, void of every piece of knowledge and wisdom, is nearly impossible to imagine, so I just remember and try to comfort my boy.

There is an infinite capacity in the Mommy Machine's heart, which is used for several important purposes. It contains an ocean of patience. This comes in handy on nearly all occasions when raising an infant. It is full of sympathy, because the little guy has no other way to express his discomfort and pain than to turn purple, wail, and contort his face. She feels his pain and learns to speak his simple, yet complex, language. Her heart is brimming with love. He could straight up kick her in the jaw and dislodge a tooth and she wouldn't think twice about it. In fact, she would be glad that she inspired that kick, and find some brilliant purpose behind losing a tooth. The Mommy Machine's heart is God-like. It contains all the attributes of Our Savior Jesus Christ and endows her with a spirit that comforts the child and provides an environment for him that helps him in his transition to this mortal sphere. It also helps me out, as she has somehow attained an incredible power to calm me down.

Do not get me wrong. I, too have the patience of a rock. It's when I take it personal that I become upset . . . at myself and my inability to calm my boy and make him happy. That makes me sad. Some call it a feeling of incompetence, others call it fear, or the new-daddy-jitters, or cold feet. I call it accountability. Is the child provided for? Am I doing the right things? Is he happy? Are we good, between each other? The Mommy Machine I live with tells me that he is, that I am, that he is, and that we are.

I can't remember ever being so tired in all my life. I have never been this stressed, or at least I have never experienced this kind of stress. I can't imagine what pressures my wife is under. One of the most incredible features of the Mommy Machine is that I will not hear any whining or complaining from her. She will bear it, and she will gain strength from it, and if it gets too overwhelming she leans on me, and I am happy to be there. Of course, I try to alleviate this by jumping in and helping with the baby, cleaning house, doing laundry, washing the dishes (which I enjoy, oddly enough) taking out the garbage and genuinely being there for the both of them.

When I took on this burden I berated myself for sacrificing the life I had, the life where I could . . . well . . . come to think of it, I can still do that. And throw away the life where I used to . . . . no, I can still do that, too. And the life where it was easy for me to . . . . um, I can still do that, too. It will just take a little longer. The only thing I've discovered that I myself have sacrificed is a bit of rest, some money, and a giant chunk of my heart that used to belong to my ego. Let's just say I am glad to occupy that space with another much more meaningful and rewarding purpose.

The Mommy Machine was born when Frederick was born, and she had already known all these things about herself. She just needed to put them into action. God bless our mothers. We sure put them through a few thousand trials which (again, oddly enough) they would never trade for anything in the world. Even after we leave home, the Mommy Machine ticks away and amazes her extended family clear through the rest of her life.

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