I will always want to be a mom. But, now that I've experienced the joy that comes with it and the complexities of the job I find great irony in it all. Sometimes I wish I could have a thousand little children. I would never tire to hear their sweet sounds and be a part of the way they begin to understand the world, and it's always in such a unique way. Sometimes I wish I could take it back, erase it all so I don't have to feel the pain that comes when my child is hurt or sad. How could I bring a child into a world in which the future looks so bleak? How could I allow this baby who is so perfect and so innocent to be influenced by such evil in the world. My own selfishness tells me not to have any more because it will "interfer" with the rest of my life. Yet on the other end, my selfishness tells me to have as many as I can so I can savor the sweetness of life, despite the trials I know they'll face. I willingly go through the aches and pains of pregnancy, the length of which is just long enough for me to go so crazy that I am desperate for the onset of painful childbirth just so it can be over with. I do all of that and they come out looking like their father. And when my child is here, I am somehow able to forget it over time, so that I'm willing to do it all over again.
Just when I feel like I can't take another minute of it, they do something new and amazing making me want for a million more minutes. When all I want to do is crash in bed and sleep forever, yet I can't help myself from jumping at the slightest noise fearing they need me, or wake from the silence, fearing there is something wrong. Just when I feel like I could walk out the door and never come back, I hear that cry. The "I need you" cry that changes everything in that moment from -all about me- to -all about them- and I'm so okay with that. When that happens, the automatic mother switch turns on and I am somehow an extension of myself, beyond what I could be alone, but by some amazing power, some transformation, I can be what my child needs. Nuturer, protector, nurse, sustenance, womb, enforcer, merciful, piggy back ride-giver. With the passing of each day, full of joy and sorrow, I am the reciever of the world's largest invisible gift. I get the job that gets no thanks, but recieves the most glory. I do the tiny jobs that everyone else seems to forget, and just when I think I get no respect, I turn back and see what I really accomplished and somehow through all of those millions of tiny details I've been able to create productive beings that through my tiny deeds, might just change the world. Do I deserve that? All I have to do are these tiny things each day and I get to help God create, mold man? Is it just that simple? or is it just that hard? And then I think of my mother, who did everything for everyone so nonchalantly, who did it all with such a great attitude and light-heartedness and I can't imagine how she let us grow up. And then I think of my Heavenly Mother, the silent partner in it all. This silence that respect commands, but that she doesn't deserve because she wants to be a part of it all. The one who sits back and has to watch us make the mistakes we do, how we hurt each other. Yet, when it's over, I suspect she'll be the one first in line at the pearly gates to welcome us home.
In every instance, I am overwhelmed by motherhood, whether it's the difficulties of it or the joys. I mourn for the past, the precious moments that have gone, yet embrace the coming future, the precious moments yet to come. I look into their tiny faces and I see my past and my future. I see their grandparents and their grandchildren.
I think of all of this. God wanted me to experience all of this? Things that I don't think I will ever comprehend, joy from sorrow and sorrow from joy. I don't understand any of it, but somehow through it I feel
love; and I realize
that is the purpose of it all.
