I got extra rest and extra hugs and extra special coffee. They gave me handmade cards and hand-drawn pictures and hand-crafted books. I was let off the hook for meal planning and diaper duty and housework.
It was all I wanted for Mother’s Day. I am so spoiled and blessed by my amazing husband and wonderful little rascals.
This morning I got to thinking about what it means to be ‘Mommy.’ We all laugh about how this role means we no longer sleep, we have no privacy and we are on duty at all hours. All those things are true, but I’m adding to the list.
Being ‘Mommy’ means I can’t take a day off because I would miss them growing. Even if that growth is a quivering ball of tears because they’re having trouble at school. I can’t miss that. That’s what I’m here for.
Being ‘Mommy’ means that sometimes I want to drop everything and cry because I’m so very aware of my shortcomings.
Being ‘Mommy’ means remembering that Adaleine doesn’t like macaroni & cheese, Judah doesn’t like hot dogs, and Eden doesn’t like milk in her cereal. These are important things to them, and if I forget that I’ve forgotten something that matters.
Being ‘Mommy’ means being ‘Brittany’ first to my husband. I have made it clear to my kids that they are not at the top of my list. As shocking as it was for them to hear at first, there is a security in knowing that of all the people on this earth, I love their daddy the best.
Being ‘Mommy’ means that I have a voice in the lives of four little people that can never be replaced or replicated. These children have been entrusted to me for such a short time, and I must pray to God that He will guide my steps and use me so that these amazing little humans might one day call Him ‘Lord.’
It’s knowing that I will still get irritated and frustrated and angry and I’ll be selfish. I will forget to pick up my mess and I will neglect the dishes and I will ignore the laundry. I will continue to fail. They need to see me fail so that they can see me ask for forgiveness, lean on God, and learn to love Him better.
It’s snuggles on the sofa even though their hands are sticky and picking up used tissues. It’s clearing the cereal bowls time and again and wondering why they can’t remember. It’s letting little hands crack the eggs even though it takes so much longer.
It’s giving up on my pictures of ideal, and delighting in the ministry of being ‘Mommy.’
This is not where I thought I’d be. This is where God has me. It’s not perfect, and I’m not perfect in it, but I am learning so much from all of it.
“Behold, children are a heritage from the Lord, the fruit of the womb a reward.”