One of the more shocking miracles of my life, is the fact I'm a Mom. In truth, that isn't the most shocking part. The reality that almost 6 years into this gig my kids are alive, seemingly well adjusted, and I haven't been arrested or committed is. I offer this post up as hope to women out there convinced they don't have a maternal bone in their body. Me either, but I got 3 kids determined to prove me wrong.
I have no desire to make play-doh, build forts, or play hide and seek for 26 hours a day. Zero. I can have a mad dance party, but that's only because those would occur with or without tiny humans present to partake. In actuality their presence likely keeps the music in a more acceptable genre, because I occasionally imagine myself as a bit of a thug.... so really, who is the parent keeping whom out of trouble? Exactly.
While talking to a friend who just had her first babe, the topic of a mom's insane protection instinct came up. She asked if it ever tempered at all. My response, "Nah, wait till it get's really irrational and you seriously think about kicking a kindergartner in the knees because she cut your three year old off on the play ground, knocking him over." Apparently God gave me JUST enough maternal instinct to cover my own kids, kindergartners consider yourself warned.
My natural reaction to a mess isn't, 'awwww the kids are being so creative and having fun'.... It is incredibly censored, to the point I've already had to ask God to forgive what I THOUGHT about saying, before a very tight lipped "Please make sure that get's cleaned up when your done." makes it out of my mouth. Then when, inevitably, it doesn't get cleaned up, I'm literally saying 'be thankful, be thankful' over and over as I pick up blocks, clothes, crumbs, books, cars, etc... for the umpteenth time, as a way to psych my brain out.
When they fall at the playground, I'm the mom that waits to see if tears come before moving. If they don't, I give 'em a high five and say 'way to stick that landing'. By the time we FINALLY make it to bed time each day, I'm all but racing to the finish line. There are no character voices to the books we read, in fact if I can influence the choice at all to be under 8 pages, I consider it a major win. Most nights my prayers over them include a plea to God to keep them in their beds, while giving them sweet dreams of course, but PLEASE God, keep them in their beds.
But..... The thing about kids..... its all but impossible to look at them and not marvel at the miracle that they are. I got to help CREATE that?!? What the what!?!? Especially when you get older, and realize all those things you held as inalienable rights, that you would get married, and have kids when YOU wanted, aren't inalienable at all. It makes it all the more miraculous.
WE are supposed to love THEM unconditionally, but somewhere along my path the World taught me all about conditional love. Then I had them. THEY reminded ME, what it looked like. When I was grumpy or tired, and found myself snapping, they didn't care. When I was scared at the overwhelming size of the task before me, raising them, they just smiled and laughed. They wipe the slate clean every single morning, no matter what happened the day before, and let me try again. They reminded me how to do the same for them. When they wake me up 5 times a night, puke in my hair, spill grape juice on the carpet, color with marker on the walls, drive me bonkers with antics at the dinner table, or stall for hours at bed.... We can try again together tomorrow. That is a miracle. The thing about miracles, they are all unique, like snow flakes. When and how you find your man, when and if you have kids, the demeanor and needs of those kids, how you parent. It takes all kinds to make the world go round. Clearly, as evidenced below.
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