Motherhood Is...

Motherhood is acid on my soul.

I don’t want to play trains while the bad guys come and chase me but I look at him, my little three year old and I have an overwhelming desire to spare him hurt, to give my time. The desire is like drips of acid corroding my selfishness. Peeking beneath the selfishness is strength and I find that I am able to dig deep inside. I burrow past the fatigue, the boredom, the disinterest and I play. With an amused smile on her face, my newborn daughter watches as I take that yellow choo choo and my son and I zoom through the house, around the couch and we laugh.

My son is angry. He hits me, throws his shoes at my head. He is disappointed in my incompetence – I chose the wrong colored spoon for breakfast. A tsunami of rage fills my veins, and then I feel the acid, the need to teach and not to vindicate. It strips away my impatience, my anger and my yelling. I find I am able to hold him close as he screams and together we breathe.

He’s sick, vomiting across the room and I hold his damp, limp frame and cry. I rock him in the dark wishing I could somehow push all of my love into his sick body forcing out his illness. But, motherhood has consumed any illusion of control and I understand that in agreeing to become a mother I agree to expose my most tender, vulnerable parts of self to the harsh elements of the world. I reluctantly allow my children to face rejection, difficulty and tears because, deep in the innermost part of my soul, I know that it is what they need the most. So I let the acid bore holes in my doubt and fear. I begin to trust that God, with His miraculous power to heal and infinite capacity to love, will put back together what this fallen world takes apart.

Much like acid would do to metal, motherhood dissolves my faults. It makes my heart anxious, my eyes swollen and my knees sore. But despite intermittent discomfort and pain I have faith that what will remain of me will be divine and beautiful and joyful.

So, I look over at my daughter. I tickle her under her chin. She pulls her knees up to her chest and her laughter rings out in short chortling bursts.

I think I hear God.

My son smiles his radiant, effervescent smile as he races around the room.

I think I see God.

I pull my daughter close feeling her soft, warm weight in my arms, her feathery hair on my lips.

In gratitude I close my eyes.