On Being Mom

If you would have asked me when I was 18 how many kids I would have, I probably would have told you none.  I grew up pretty much non interested in babies or kids.  I was scared to hold a baby and never changed one diaper until Henry was born.  I even remember babysitting (and hating it) for a newborn baby when I was 13 or so.  He still had his umbilical stump on.    What the heck?  I have come a long way in these last 12 years of life.  Crazy what a little bit of love for your spouse does. 

The day that I became a mother to Henry, Julia and Graham was filled with such an overwhelming sense of pride and happiness.  From the labor pains to the awe and wonderment that you get when you look at their tiny wrinkly fingers and bird feet.  Watching your husband get that look on his face that swells with pride when he looks at his brand new baby.  Those were great moments I will always cherish. 

Sure, every phase has its moments of pure sweetness and joy but what they don't tell you is that there are more moments of total frustration and craziness.  EVERY day.  From Graham being needy baby to Julia being thrown into a major crying spell about something so trivial to Henry being all dramatic about eating bites of food damn near every night.  If it isn't one thing, its probably another. 

If I look at all this craziness and sweetness, at the end of the day, all I want is for my kids to think of me as a good mom with a fierce love for them.  Sure, there are days that I think that Henry just has to hate me for yelling at him about this and that.  If I just cancel it all out and stop and listen, really listen, I know they love me in the ways that they ask me to pray with them at night, when they wake up from a bad dream or when they want to snuggle up under my quilt.   I know I am loved and I love being their mama, craziness and all.