I love being a mom. I did not grow up dreaming about how many kids I wanted or what their names would be. Like many girls of my generation, we were programmed to think career. So, I jumped into adult life with a college degree and more than a few failed attempts to climb an elusive ladder. I wouldn’t say I was entirely unsuccessful, but I was unfulfilled.
Then, I met my husband. He wanted a big family. I wasn’t so sure about that, but he was cute enough that I let him think I’d go along with the idea. So, we had our first baby. She was awful cute and snuggly. I decided one more might be good. Then, another and another and another, and the one that was a jolt. Thankfully, he was right, and I was wrong. I like a big family. I like being a mom.
Being a mom has saved me from myself. The world does not revolve around me like it mostly did before I had children. If you ever need a good dose of humility, simply spend some time with a pack of kids, preferably your own.
Being a mom gives me a higher purpose in life. Sure, I had more time to volunteer before kids, but now I’m serving the Lord in a specific and eternal way. By teaching my children to love the Lord and live for Him, the world will be forever changed, like the ripple from one small stone thrown into a pond.
Being a mom has shown me what true love is. It’s not pretentious or showy or dramatic or fireworks. It’s waking up in the middle of the night after someone throws up on you, changing a mountain of diapers, passing up a new outfit or pair of shoes to buy something super cute for your child, and snuggling on the couch with bed hair and morning breath.
Love is not diamonds and room service. It’s wilted flowers, hand-drawn cards, and sleeping five to a bed.
Being a mom has worked more patience in me. I can now answer the same question 50 times with only a trace of annoyance in my voice. It used to be twice. I’m sure I’ll get to 100 before I’m done. I do, however, bang my head on the table or a wall from time to time.
Being a mom means I’ve gained more weight than I ever thought possible. Not because I sit on the couch and eat bon bons. I rarely sit, except to do school, and I never get an uninterrupted meal except on an occasional date night. I’m convinced that pregnancy simply restructured my DNA in an endless loop so that all the weight is trapped inside with no way to get out.
Does anyone even know what bon bons are? I’m pretty sure I’ve never had one, but I’d be happy to do some research and get back to you on it.