Nothing about giving birth makes me more incredible than any other woman. It forces you into battles you never knew you’d fight and aren’t prepared for at all. Like the epic Wearing a Sundress When It’s 35 Degrees Outside Melee. Or, David’s favorite, HOW COULD THERE NOT BE ANY CHOCOLATE MILK WHEN I WANT SOME? You’ll stay calm 98% of the time and beat yourself up relentlessly about the 2%.
Motherhood makes you tender. It rips out pieces of heart muscle and tapes them precariously to your skin. It makes you afraid, it makes you want, it makes you cry, it makes you insane.
But also, it makes everything make sense some days.
Those times when you do like your 3-year-old are really, really good. Golden sunshine days with baby-toothy-smiles, rompers and overalls, giggles, bubbles, no longer worrying over the messes and mistakes. Good nights of sleep are like magic. Seeing them grow makes you proud and strong and butterfly-stomached.
Learning the faith-lessons along with a toddler makes you grow yourself. You remember how faith is supposed to be like a child’s. And yours, some days hanging on by a string, needs a little childish playtime with Jesus. It needs some loud Jesus-Loves-Me singing in the backseat with only a semblance of a key. It needs to wonder why God made frogs green with funny tongues and why babies grow inside you from a few cells to seven and a half pounds of angelic mass.
I don’t think you have to give birth or adopt to be a mother. If you love a child to the point where you’d die for her … your heart says mother.
I know I’ve only learned a fraction of the lessons that will come as these three grow and continue to rip my heart to shreds and mend it back with jagged stitches. Together, we’ll discover what it means to be child and parent. Sons and daughter and mommy.
Someday they’ll ask me, “What was I like as a kid?” And I’ll remember those sunny playground days, big sunglasses, white sandals, and say, “You were perfect, my child.”
Happy Mother’s Day to all of you.
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This article originally appeared at JessieWeaver.net.
