I am Mom.

I have always wanted kids.  Ever since I was a little girl, when asked what I wanted to be when I grew up, the answer was always… a mom.  “I want to be a mom.”

As I grew, I learned that I shouldn’t answer the question that way and I would make up some quick flippant response, but in my heart I always cried out “All I really want is to be a mom!”

I dreamt of my babies, my children, even to the extreme of dreams so vivid of pregnancy (and oddly enough, miscarriage) that I would wake up weeping in my bed as a teenager.  I never understood my longings, but I knew they were there.  And I believe they were, and are, from God.

     

But somewhere along this beautiful and very difficult journey of becoming exactly what I have always wanted, dreamed of, longed for…  a seed of discontent was planted.

You see, somewhere along the way, I started to let what others think, say and do, seep into my heart and my life.  I have let it matter that their lives look ‘easier’ than mine, or that their kids are calmer than mine, more well behaved, more respectful, more… grown-up.  

I have this life I dreamed of, staying home with my kids, being a part of their everysecond little moments, and yet I watch moms go to work and part of me envies the dropping off of their kids at daycare.

Because at least then they get to maybe drink a latte while it’s hot and use the bathroom without an audience cheering you on, pulling on the toilet paper, offering to help you wipe, asking you a million questions, and my goodness just let me pee for heavens sake!

I am now exactly where I have always dreamt of being, but somehow instead of rejoicing in that dream-turned-reality, I have let the painful, everyday, life-is-just-too-hard and if-only-I-could-get-some-rest and maybe-when-my-kids-are-olders cloud the beautiful picture.

Yes, my dream looked different than my reality.  Yes, I had on rose-colored glasses and had no idea what I was getting myself into.  But, you know what?  That dream.  The real essence of my dream.  That is what I got.

I am Mom.

Every fiber of my being, from that first moment I saw those beautiful lines on that stick, and maybe even before, is completely, 100% mom.

It’s no fluffy saying…  the minute my first child left the safety of my womb, my heart has been walking around on the outside.  Their hurts are my hurts.  Their joys are my joys.  And I look at them and sometimes I can barely breathe for how much I love them.

I am mom.

I am mom to these beautiful, precious children who will only be in my arms for a short while.  And please don’t get me started on that because I get teary just thinking about it and, ya’ll, my kids are not even out of diapers yet.

But I guess it’s that thought that has been pushing me out of this poor-me, being-a-mom-is-way-harder-than-I-thought funk that I have been in for way too long lately.

Being a mom is hard.  It will always be hard.  It is beautiful, glorious, forever-life-changing, mind-blowing…  and the most difficult thing a person could ever do on this earth.

I am tired.  I am worn.  I can barely put one foot in front of the other most of the time.

But I am here.  I am exactly where I have always dreamed of being and I am choosing, now, to focus on that truth.  I am not reaching for some goal of ‘ideal’ children, or ‘perfect’ motherhood.  I am here.

I am Mom.

     

My dream has become my reality and I am going to live it 100%.  (Ok, 99%.  I’m not perfect.  I’m sure I’ll have to come back and read this letter to myself every day for perspective and focus.  But if that’s what it takes, then that’s what I’ll do!)

          My beautiful babies, I am so sorry for not seeing the miracle that is right in front of me.  I am sorry for being discontent and often discouraged with our everyday life. 

          You are a joy, a delight, and the best gifts God has ever given me.  And I want nothing more than to be your mom.  

     

I love you.

 

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