Motherhood

          Although last Sunday was Mother's Day, Cupcake had to work and I was busy helping tear down the set from the previous night’s finale of the play we just did at the Legion Hall. As a result, it was decided (‘it’ being Cupcake) that Mother’s Day would be postponed for a week and we would be allowed to dote on her and wait on her hand and foot at that time. With the onslaught of Mother’s Day marketing (‘Show Mom how much you love her on Mother’s Day with a new ironing board!’) I have been thinking a lot about the role of mothers in our society and I've come to the conclusion that it must be a pretty neat experience. Indeed, when anyone wants to describe all that is good and wholesome in the world, motherhood and apple pie rank one and two respectively.
           In fact, motherhood as an institution is held so sacred, the worst insults men hurl at one another (during heated hockey games, for example) aren't so much directed at the insultee himself, but at his mother. The old standby, ‘Son of a B___’ is a fine example of this, but there are many others. Good taste and restraint, things I’m not particularly good at, prevent me from listing them but trust me, they are plentiful. Anyone who has ever golfed probably knows them all. Apparently, you can call down the person who has displeased you, even his wife, kids, vehicle, anything, but don't make fun of his mother. Them's fightin' words, doncha know, and only serves to demonstrate the high regard mothers are held.
            At risk of displeasing a large swath of the population, I have to admit I'm not so sure this motherhood thing should be as highly vaunted as it is, except, of course, in the case of my own mother who is a saint. After all, the only prerequisite to motherhood is to plunk down in some stirrups and push out a kid. I mean, how hard can that be, really? Oh I know most women go on and on about the pain of childbirth and how they spent 78 hours in labour (the number of hours increases with each telling -  something like the distance walked to school by grandparents), but really, the only source of information on the amount of pain experienced always comes from women. Now, obviously they aren't going to minimize the description of the discomfort, otherwise they will have nothing to hold over their kids to make them feel guilty.
          Actually this whole childbirth pain thing has bothered me for some time. Thankfully, my own mother (Did I mention she's a saint?) never brought up the subject of the agony and stress I caused her when she evicted me from her womb. (I didn’t even get my damage deposit back.) Mind you, being the last of eight children, there's a good chance she may not have noticed the event.
          The mother of my children, however, is a whole different story. I can't be allowed to bemoan any pain whatsoever (bashing my thumb with a hammer, breaking my leg skiing, the big snip etc, etc,) without her bringing up the fact that it could not have possibly hurt as much as producing our two wonderful children. Frankly, I didn't know it was a contest. In fact, if I got the same mileage out of my Kia as she gets out of her pain of childbirth thing, I would not have to fill up with gas again until well into the next decade,
          Okay, perhaps I overstate my case somewhat. Besides providing a huge selection of guilt-inducing birthing stories, motherhood has some pretty terrific things going for it. Take for example the ‘magic lips’ that come with the title of ‘Mother’.
          A mother’s magic lips can kiss "boo-boos" all better, purse in such a way that every kid within fifty yards knows they've been caught, or smile with such radiance over every single gift from the heart that mothers get from their adoring offspring; from freshly picked dandelion bouquets to the clay handprints being churned out in kindergartens everywhere. These same magic lips can diagnose a fever from the forehead of a sick child, comfort a broken heart or simply provide a decoy when she goes for that quick cheek peck, followed by a surreptitious sniff for signs of beer or cigarette smoke.
          Mothers also have other magic features that hold them in good stead. Broad shoulders to cry on, hands that can just as easily make supper, as make emergency repairs to clothing, and spit that can clean even the toughest stains on any small face.
          As I said at the start, motherhood would be a pretty cool gig. Now if we could just dispense with that child birth thing, men might actually be interested in it.