Doing It All Over Again
The Journey of Motherhood, and Enjoying It All Anew
I watched a film a while back — I couldn’t tell you the name — but the premise has stayed with me ever since. What if you could go back and live every day of your life over again? Not trapped in one day like some cosmic punishment, but gently returned to the whole of it, given a second chance to move through your life with different eyes. Would you do it differently? Would you enjoy it more?
I keep turning that question over this Mother’s Day, because in the most unexpected and beautiful way, I feel like I’m getting to find out.
On May 4th, our son Rex Stanley came into the world. He is, by every measure, absolute perfection. And what surprised us most so far: He looks identical to our older son Hugh, just 14 years his junior. Same face. Same sideways glances. We had to do a double take.
The night before Rex was born I wrote Hugh a note telling him that I don’t know what it is about children, but it’s like you knew them before you knew them, when they come into the world. That’s exactly how we feel about Hugh, our oldest. That’s exactly how we feel about Rex.
Rex was a wonderful surprise. We had Hugh when I was working at the White House, extra busy running around, and we never put pressure on ourselves about whether we’d have another. We’d seen too many people exhaust themselves on that particular hope, and we wanted to let nature work. But for a long time, it didn’t.
Then I stepped back from most of the stress in my life and began a meditation practice, 20 minutes twice a day. It changed me in ways I didn’t expect. I started noticing small things: being more present, walking through the Huntington Gardens with my parents and actually taking it in, really listening when family and friends told their stories.
Lo and behold, almost a year later, I got a positive pregnancy test. I thought I was going through perimenopause (evidently I’m not alone, statistics show women over 40 are having more surprise children). When I told my mom early on, I told her not to get her hopes up. At my age, the risks were real. I doubted this pregnancy from the start. But when a scare sent me back to the doctor, there he was on the sonogram, waving at me. Rex has been telling me not to doubt since before he was born.
He came out, and I kid you not, this baby is the meditation itself. He is so chill. One week in and he’s already showing us his yoga-baby style. I was trying to get him to burp the other day, I sat him up and he’s just naturally sitting, legs crossed, hands resting at his sides, like he’s taking it all in. He does not let things bother him. He is my teacher already.
I want to say something about motherhood more broadly, because it’s Mother’s Day and I can’t help myself. I hate the debate in this country about what kind of mother to become, trad mom versus working mom, because I don’t know a single mother who doesn’t work. Some just aren’t paid outside the home, because they’re doing the most important job there is, raising the next generation. We take that for granted. We shouldn’t.
So back to that film, and that question. What would I do differently? The honest answer is not much. I’m pretty fond of the first one. But I would treasure it more. I am trying to be more present. I am trying to open my eyes wider to the absolute gift of it, even during those night shifts that all moms know too well.
Rex is our meditation baby, our second chance. Not to do it right, but to do it awake. And on this Mother’s Day, one week into his life and 14 years into Hugh’s, I can say with certainty: it is every bit as magical the second time. More, even, because now I know enough to know it.