Today is the fiftieth anniversary of the first moon walk. I heard there was a brief conversation between the astronauts about who went ahead.
"Tell you what. I will go first and we will name a Disney character after you."
The date is significant for me personally as well, as it marks the day I stepped into motherhood thirty eight years ago. Which has been a journey out of this world.
It's ironic really. Almost everyone since the beginning of time has seen the moon. Crooned to her, made secret wishes in her milky light. Painted her, written sonnets about her. Our moods, the tide, the cycles of nature are impacted by her magnetic force. And yet it was another thing entirely to put a booted foot on her silent surface.
At least I think it was quiet. I don't know from experience.
Motherhood, by contrast was noisy. Squabbling children, raucous games of chase, toddlers' fingers exploring the piano. Then there was the hubbub I made, shouting reprimands into the bedroom, singing in the car on long trips, threats to pick up socks, reading storybooks on the couch.
I watched a documentary called One Strange Rock which is from the perspective of those who left it. The space travelers who have seen the earth not via a camera but through a porthole. Their message is deepened by the wisdom that can only come from the vulnerability of entrusting your life to a small ship hurling through space.
If there is any sagacity that has landed in my heart from the orbit of mothering, it cannot be compartmentalized into a meme. What astonishes me is that the God of the Universe saw fit to lend nine irreplaceable babies into my undeserving care.
