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What it means to be a mother (from someone who doesn’t know anything.) I’ve been a mother for six years, I retain the right to claim those pregnant months. During those years I’ve managed to keep my sanity long enough to pick up a few morsels of wisdom. Or maybe they were just knocked into me by the children who taught me those very lessons along the way.
On Creation: Being a mother starts the day you decide to create a life. Even if such event happens by accident, you have become a mother. You must now use reason and a bit of intelligence to form a plan for this grandest of gifts. You are in the position of choosing life, choosing to provide for this life, and doing it to the best of your ability. When you chose your college major, applied for that first job, chose a man to love, all along the way you have been making decisions that will affect the life inside you. Be as careful and diligent in your planning as when you chose where to live, what car to buy, be more so.
On Pain: You are in hospital and the doctor tells you to push one last time. You breathe so deeply, your lungs trying to fill themselves with sufficient oxygen to provide you the strength to evict this being from your pulsing body. This is the last moment you will make a decision entirely based on your own comfort. You want that succubus out of you. You hurt so much and relief is imminent. You are thinking of the agony that has brought you to this point. You are considering the alternatives, pull this thing straight out of you by any means, this is not so far fetched, no matter what your original all natural plan. In this moment, it is you fighting your body for every last muscle twitch and exhalation.
On Strength: It was so little, the pain of pregnancy, birth, compared to that felt at the park the first time a toy was snatched from his hands. It won’t even be the last or worst of these moments. You learn to watch from a distance as playground games are divvied and he is chosen last, not at all. His quiet little face stares at you uncomprehending and you want to fight his battle. Instead you pick him up, dropping him on your lap and tickling his neck and tummy until he can’t laugh anymore. He runs away to climb a bigger wall, a greater challenge. That’s what you’ve given him, a strong spirit, one that knows where home truly lies and where he’ll never be turned away.
On Time: She’s so small, running after the big kids, wanting to do just exactly as they do. Yet, her legs don’t reach as high and her arms are stretched as far as they can without grabbing hold. So, she toddles back to you and smiles wide, “mom, play a game with me.” And you decide the dishes will have to be washed later as you bend down to her height and ask her what she would like to play. The moments are fleeting and you grab them to you and hold on with all your might. The busy happens, there is always something to do, get done, and it will wait until tomorrow, because today you play.
On Begging: It’s night, there are two precious little ones snuggled tight, wrapped in fleece pajamas and special blankets, you close your eyes tight and whisper a prayer up to heaven, so heartfelt that tears brim. There is a moment of silence and then two sweet voices shout “Amen”. Hugs all around, kisses on soft cheeks, small arms pull you down. And as you walk out of their room you finish that prayer you started by their side, you ask for wisdom to guide them to their true home, patience to keep them close even on the hard days, and love so abundant it flows through you straight into them. Because being the best I can be is just not enough. I need help.
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