Mama's Gonna Buy You a Mockingbird

I read this terrifying, beautiful, heartbreaking essay about what it means to be a mother if you know your child will die. My seven-month-old was asleep in my arms, his little chest rising and falling, his breath sweet on my cheek, his skin unimaginably soft. Tears flew out of my eyes and coursed down my face.

Reading her article was a gift. How lucky, how blessed I am beyond all my imaginings, to have this precious son. I read her essay on Tuesday, and these last two days have been richer.

I did less. I didn't watch the next lecture in the computer programming class I am auditing online. I skipped yoga class on Wednesday. I was pleased when a student canceled his math tutoring session.

But my days felt dense, like an unbelievably decadent cake. I gazed at my sleeping baby. I felt his weight. I stroked his cheek as he nursed. I played with him on the floor. I listened to each little sound. I marveled at each lunge and grab. I tickled and sang to make his eyes sparkle, his laugh gurgle.

I read a parenting article the other day that spoke of "striving for unconditional love", and I thought that was ridiculous. My love for my son is unconditional. There's no striving. That's the whole point: the love simply is.

I never used to like the lullabye "Mama's Gonna Buy You a Mockingbird". The words seemed wasteful and materialistic. I disliked the image of the broken and discarded gifts piling up as the mother continues to buy yet another gift for her child. But the tune would often pop into my head. Soon after my son was born I created my own words, beginning with:

Hush little baby, as sweet as silk

Mama's gonna give you some good fresh milk.

But I have been thinking about the original words more over the last few months, and there is something there that resonates with me. I love my baby so deeply, and I would do ANYTHING for him. Buy him a mockingbird? A looking glass? A golden ring? If such gifts could bring him joy, health, or safety, YES!

One evening a few years ago, I came home from teaching tired and ready for a cozy evening. My husband called to tell me that his car wouldn't start, and I was pleased that I could show him how much I loved him. I joyfully jumped in my car immediately to drive the 40 minutes through traffic to him.

Maybe my baby son doesn't need a mockingbird, but when I sing to him, I think of all of the things I would do (or give up) for him happily and joyfully.

Hush little baby, don't say a word

Mama's gonna buy you a mockingbird.