I Am A Mother

When I was twelve I sat in the foyer at church playing with the two-year-old daughter of a family friend. Her father, standing slightly off to the side, was watching us. I quipped to him about how lucky he was to be a father and how great it must be to have a child, and I very distinctly remember his reply: “If I’d known how hard it was going to be I would never have done it.” Thinking he was joking, I laughed, but he looked me square in the eye and like a warning repeated, “I would never have done it.”

I was taken aback and thought he was being cruel, but now, with a paltry 16 years of motherhood under my belt, I think I might understand what he was trying to say.

When the Kiddo was two he was playing in the tub with little plastic tea cups. He filled one with bathwater and handed it to Mr. “Here you go, dad.” Mr obligingly took it and said, “Thanks! What is it?” to which the kiddo nonchalantly replied, “Coffee.” “Kiddo,” Mr said, “I can’t drink this. Mormons don’t drink coffee.” The kiddo, not to be dissuaded, replied “Oh. My. Goooosh. Dad. It's not real. Just drink it.” Thinking he could use this as a teaching moment, Mr. insisted, “Kiddo, we shouldn’t even pretend to drink coffee.” Seemingly giving up, the kiddo said, “Fine, it's not coffee okay?! It’s lemonade.” So Mr drank it. And by “drank it” I mean poured it down the sink and and handed the cup back to the kiddo with a polite “Thank you. That was very refreshing.” At which point the kiddo, with a devious smile boasted, “HaHa! I totally tricked you! It was coffee!” “Kiddo,” Mr admonished, “that was not very nice.”

As it turns out children are jerks. Well maybe not yours (I’d hate to be presumptuous,) but mine are most definitely jerks.

Bedtime is always an argument. They conveniently forget to brush their teeth and think that today's dirty clothes should double as pajamas. Sometimes they try to put their dirty clothes back on after they shower, saying things like, “Well, if you would just buy me more pants I wouldn’t have to reuse these so much, now would I?”

They wad up their clothes and mix them all together. Then they put the clean clothes back in the hamper and dirty ones in the closet...or on the dining room table. Seriously, no one told me I would be picking up dirty underwear off the table on a regular basis. It's not right.

When they were younger they insisted on their hands being washed incessantly. Every tiny speck of real or imaginary filth had to be wiped immediately! But now they think washing their hands after cleaning the litter box or taking out the garbage would just be frivolous. They are incredulous when I ask them to pick up after themselves, and heaven forbid I ask them to put something away that they themselves did not get out.

They make arguing so exhausting that I give in and just always order the pepperoni pizza.

I’ve had to say things like, “Go put pants on; we have company” and “No. I absolutely will not buy you a book called ‘Crafting With Cat Hair’” and even, “Please stop. Strangers don’t like it when you rub their belly. In fact, nobody likes it.”

All of their crazy, erratic, outrageous, and downright bizarre behavior has worn me down. I no longer have visions of splendor; now I could die happy if just once they’d flush the toilet without being prompted.

My children spend a great majority of their time feeling invincible. I wish it were true and I remember thinking I was invincible once too. As a parent I have discovered that these feelings of invincibility are an illusion. Perhaps the worst part about being a parent was the realization that my children are fragile. The days come when their bones break, or their emotions betray them, or their bodies won’t do what they are supposed to do. And all too often when things go awry, I have no idea what to do or how to fix it.

I am their mother. Mothers are supposed to be strong, but I feel weak. Mothers are supposed to be knowledgeable, but I feel ignorant. I don’t feel like I’ve properly prepared them to take on the world and I wonder why God has asked me to do something for which I am so obviously ill-equipped.

If I had known, if I’d really, really known the depth of worry, frustration, and heartache that being a parent would bring, I don’t think I would have had the courage to do it. The very thought makes my heart break, because if I had missed those painful, challenging moments, I would also have missed the smile on the girl’s face when she won her first race. I would have missed the boy asking to hold my hand when he was scared. I would have missed listening to the little man singing a hymn, and the kiddo stopping to help a stranger on the way to school.

Perhaps courage is found in those painful moments, but these tiny, tender moments are what make it all worthwhile. Watching my boys walk hand in hand, or watching my daughter give her brother a kiss. Listening to them say, “I love you” to each other, and thinking that maybe I actually did something right. Hoping that it will be enough for them in the end.