For so many years I waited to become a mom. In my younger years, it was an extension of playing house, just for the excitement of holding a tiny hand in mine and doing all things first mom’s do.
So it finally happened in late July 1969, a precious baby boy, weighing in at 7lb. 10oz and 19½” long, joined our family. He was the apple of his dad’s eye and my “little man.” We enjoyed him, his cute little tricks and funny words for about a year.
Then, you guessed it, I got to do it all again, this time a bundle in pink, weighing in at 7lb 8oz, 18” long. Believe me when I say this one cut her teeth on the “A” in attitude. It was a little more challenging, but after we figured it out, she won the hearts of everyone in the family. She still has the “winning personality.”
We had it all, two was the perfect number — I mean — feeding themselves, (check), potty training, (check), dressing themselves, (check), walking in the store by themselves (check), talking to strangers (check).
Yep, for five years we had it made, and we did it with nothing worse than a cactus stuck in the top of a barefoot, neighborhood kids (along with mine) stuffing all their coats into the hollow tree behind the house and setting the coats and the tree on fire, black eyes, breaking the arm of the boy next door, you know, the same things your kids did.
W-E-L-L…Along comes the summer of 1975 and guess what? Yep, number three. Okay, it’s time to think about this seriously. I wanted to be a Mother, and God blessed me in that desire, but I’m pushing 28 years old and don’t have the sparkle and shine I did at 21.
Nevertheless, we brought home a 9lb, 10oz, 18” long bundle in pink once again. Maybe because everyone was used to the routine, maybe because we had just forgotten (and thrown away all the baby stuff), but we had forgotten just what it was like to have a little one around. We now had another learning curve. Again, the blond curls, chubby cheeks, and sassy ways won everyone over. Her last pair of training pants had “I Boss” written across the behind. Once again we had to learn a new vocabulary. “Done already built houses” (new construction), “thought I gonna get a yellow sucker, too” (response to me saying “I thought I told you to…”) begging in the neighborhood for food (comes home with apples, oranges, cookies, and from my dad a new box of cereal)…
Okay, so much for my blessings. Now for a quick look into a prompting I had many years ago. I was sitting and reflecting about my Mom on Mother’s Day, (whom I lost roughly 40 years ago) and here’s what I learned.
It’s Not All About You! (ME)
I had forgotten who stood beside me on that first doctor’s visit in late 1968. Who held my hand and fixed tea and crackers when I could hold nothing else down. Who bought me pretty gowns and sweet-smelling bath products so I might feel better about my (chubby self). Who came to my house every day, sometimes twice a day, to be sure I was okay and to be sure I had the “right kind of food.” The lady who knew my whole life was going to change and prayed for me every day.
Then, after she walked me through the process, not once but three times, I realized it really wasn’t about me at all.
As I sat in retrospect one Mother’s Day Eve, there was a soft tap on my shoulder and a small quiet voice in my ear. After I listened for awhile, I realized, “No, this day is not about me, it’s about the Beautiful Woman who gave birth to me. So I say,
Thank you, mom, for all you did and sacrificed for me, to help make me the best mom I could be.
Happy Heavenly Mother’s Day Mom
I Love You,
Please share a special memory of your mom.