I'm happy to be a mom

The other day I read an article in The Atlantic Monthly that talked about happiness. It claimed that although people say their children make them happy, having them record their level of happiness at specific moments throughout the day shows that parenting actually isn't their favorite activity--it ranks just above housework. That annoyed me. Maybe most people don't like parenting, I thought, but I certainly do.

But when I thought about it more, I had to admit that parenting is hard work. There's a reason why I look forward to Matt coming home every night so I can let him play with Anastasia while I do something else. There's a reason why I'm always happy when our neighbor Mary comes over to play with the baby. And although I enjoy playing with her tremendously, I like getting breaks, too. It's hard to hardly ever be able to do anything for yourself.

And yet, I think there must be something more to happiness than mere day-to-day moments. Even if your perceived level of enjoyment of daily activities is lower while you're taking care of children, there is another level at which they make us much, much happier. There must be, or people wouldn't keep wanting them. Yesterday my sister called me in a bad mood. "I feel generally dissatisfied with life," she said. I was surprised by my own reaction, because of course I knew what she was talking about. Everyone feels generally dissatisfied with life sometimes, right? And yet when she said it, my reaction was more one of commiseration than identification. Oh yes, I thought. I remember what that feels like. When did I last feel that way? Of course. It was when I was pregnant.

But I haven't felt a moment of it since Anastasia was born.

Does that mean I'll live happily ever after? Not necessarily. I suppose there might come a time in my life when I will again feel a vague, general discontent with my life. But right now, I can't imagine ever feeling that again. Yes, my day-to-day life might be hard or boring or filled with uninteresting activities like figuring out how to get poop stains off my jeans. But the big picture of my life is changed irrevocably toward happiness. I am, as Chesterton says, "at peace with the universe," even if I might be "at war with the world."

There are plenty of explanations for why having children would give people such a deep overall satisfaction with life, even in the face of daily irritations. The easiest explanation is the scientific one: we are biologically designed to reproduce, so having accomplished that makes us feel that we've satisfied a lifelong need. And maybe that is why.

Or maybe it's that Anastasia is such a perfect, lovely, beautiful, and blessed being that her mere presence in my life is a light that illumines everything it touches, giving me an overriding sense of peace, fulfillment, and joy.

Yeah, that second one is definitely it.