I'm a mom. I love being a mom. I'm not sure how that happened actually and when I stop to think about it I wonder at all that I am in fact a mother. I never dreamed of babies, was a terrible babysitter [insert story of the time I let two little kids down the block watch a scary movie and they both had nightmares...I actually lost that Monday night stint over the whole thing...] and have never experienced a nano second of that maternal thing some mothers get when they hold infants and instantly want "another". My sister is one of those women. Not me. When I discovered I was pregnant, not only was I freaked out of my mind about the whole, well, no husband thing...but I was scared poopless I wouldn't have any maternal instincts and wouldn't have any desire to develop them. I'm just not a baby person. Never was. Never gonna be.
Until I saw her foot.
It became a nightly anticipation watching to see if she'd move around enough to push her long skinny foot against the inside of my stomach. I'm going to give God a great big kiss for sending Jesus but right after that I'm telling you- I will thank Him for my precious girl. For knowing I had it in me to love her and care for her and well, mother her.
Several times recently I have found myself in conversations about babies and raising them. Two moms [make that three if you count my sister] have teen girls right now that they'd love to ship off to the ends of the earth; the others were just laughing about reaping what they sowed once upon a time- and I hear myself say how Shawna just never gave us any trouble. Nada. Zero. She sported a bit of a 'tude here and there, isn't high on the neat freak meter, but other than that she is the perfect daughter. And I just shake my head.
I suppose God knows to give the challenge kids to mothers who know what they're doing, to mothers who can last the full eight seconds and not to Barbies like me whose head won't come out of the clouds long enough to change a diaper. I don't know. Maybe I just got lucky. I know she's pretty great and I know my life would never be the same without her. Whether she rises up to call me blessed remains to be seen but I am indeed blessed. And eternally grateful she made this mother stuff something I could get into.
Until I saw her foot.
It became a nightly anticipation watching to see if she'd move around enough to push her long skinny foot against the inside of my stomach. I'm going to give God a great big kiss for sending Jesus but right after that I'm telling you- I will thank Him for my precious girl. For knowing I had it in me to love her and care for her and well, mother her.
Several times recently I have found myself in conversations about babies and raising them. Two moms [make that three if you count my sister] have teen girls right now that they'd love to ship off to the ends of the earth; the others were just laughing about reaping what they sowed once upon a time- and I hear myself say how Shawna just never gave us any trouble. Nada. Zero. She sported a bit of a 'tude here and there, isn't high on the neat freak meter, but other than that she is the perfect daughter. And I just shake my head.
I suppose God knows to give the challenge kids to mothers who know what they're doing, to mothers who can last the full eight seconds and not to Barbies like me whose head won't come out of the clouds long enough to change a diaper. I don't know. Maybe I just got lucky. I know she's pretty great and I know my life would never be the same without her. Whether she rises up to call me blessed remains to be seen but I am indeed blessed. And eternally grateful she made this mother stuff something I could get into.
posted by ret at 8:19 AM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home