Just before election night, I heard an interview on the radio of a woman who had campaigned for Obama and now all she could do was wait and see if her efforts paid off. She likened it to having a baby — you do a lot of prep work, you wait and you wait, and you hope and you hope. The more I thought about it, the more I really like that analogy. OK — so I didn’t do any work to get Obama in office (but I thought about it. Really I did). Then again, I didn’t really do any work to have Darwin, either, with a scheduled c-section and all. But there’s all that waiting and anticipation. Just as with Darwin’s birth, all election day I was giddy, but trying to manage expectations at the same time. “This might not be what you expect.” “Don’t assume too much, and just be ready for anything, even if it’s bad.” “Whatever happens, it will be OK, and we can deal with it.” It was the same thought process as we went to the hospital (on the el. Yay public transit!).
Then, the moment happens, and it’s awesome. There are tears, there is joy, there is an overwhelming sense of relief.
And then the worrying begins.
There are so many “what ifs.” What if something happens to him? How can I make sure that everything goes like it should? What if there’s a horrible plague that wipes out most of humanity? Seriously. I worry about these things. Especially since I just saw “I Am Legend” while giving platelets (I highly recommend giving platelets — 2 hours in a comfy chair with a personal DVD player and whatever movie you want. Plus juice and cookies!)
And for Darwin, it’s a little easier, because no matter what he does, I’ll love him. Whatever he screws up. Whether he ends up a hero hitting the home run in the first Cubs World Series win in hundreds of years, or he ends up in jail, I will love him fiercely. But for Obama, he’s got such high expectations surrounding him, very little unconditional love, and a lot of people who’d love to say “I told you so.” How will he manage? I want to bake him a cake and tell him “Do your best” and give him a hug.
But in addition to feeling maternal towards Obama, being a mom also makes me feel sorry for him, too, because I think he must feel maternal towards all of us. I know what it’s like to have just one little child (given, the most precious, handsome, wonderful little child in the world) look to you to make things better, to put things right. And I can’t imagine feeling the eyes of every little child in the world, plus their parents, plus everyone else, looking to you to fix things. Children in Darfur, parents in Detroit, Grandparents in Pakistan. In Obama’s election night speech, he seemed so serious. So grave. He certainly knows that people are counting on him. I wonder if he now, or ever will, regret running — sometimes, I have to admit, I think “I never should have done this. I never should have had a child.” There’s just too much worry. Hearing stories about children getting trapped in soccer nets and strangling (Darwin will be in chess club, or something else equally safe. Although he could fall on the queen – they have such pointy crowns – and poke out an eye. Sigh.) Stories about children snatched from their beds, or trapped in homes on fire. Not too long ago, I let myself think about it too much, and told Joe that we had to give the baby away, because I just couldn’t worry like this the rest of my life. If I get that overwhelmed because I’m responsible for the well-being of one child, what must it be like to feel responsible for the entire free world? And now he wants to get a dog on top of that? Doesn’t he have enough to worry about?
I suppose that’s why I’m not running for president. That, and those pictures that everyone reading this has of me. At any rate, good luck, President Obama. I’ll tell you the same thing I’ll tell Darwin — do your best, try your hardest. Be honest and good and fight for people who can’t fight for themselves. And eat your vegetables.
