That's the Mom

The next-door neighbor puppy was barking at me in my yard, trying to guard her own back yard, I guess. “No!” chided the pup’s pint-sized mistress. “That’s the mom.”

Yup, that’s me – the mom. And I’ve been her now for almost 39 years next week. I remember clearly the sparkling autumn Berlin day I was given that official news. As I boarded the city bus back to our apartment, that 21 year old me pondered with excitement all that news might entail. Boy? Girl? Name? Would he be fussy? Would she be cheerful? How would I manage being so far from my own mother? What would being a “mom” mean, really?

I ended up being “mom” to that first beautiful baby girl, followed in short succession by two additional gorgeous, sweeties. So, for me, “mom” meant years of  three bouts of severe morning sickness, weight gain, childbirth, nursing babies, doctor visits, drippings from tops to bottoms, sneezing, coughing, pneumonia (including two baby hospitalizations), shots, chicken pox (each girl, two weeks after one another; no vaccinations then) and head lice scares (I know that’s really not that big of a deal; as the pediatrician sighed at me, “Mother, if your child has friends they’ll get lice & pinworms” – but that stuff still gives me the willies). “Mom” meant walking the midnight floor with a girl who thought the stars came out to light up her playtime and not her dreamland. “Mom” meant picking up toys and sweeping up messes and picking up toys and sweeping up messes…and teaching little girlies how to pick up toys and sweep up messes. “Mom” meant assigning “time-outs” and explaining countless “why’s” and “what-for’s” and, yes, sometimes “because I said so’s.” “Mom” meant fishing things out of toilets that shouldn’t ever be put in toilets and cleaning lipstick and Vaseline smears off walls.

“Mom” was also the pure delight of a first smile, the certainty that “no, it wasn’t gas – she really did smile at me!” The giggling. The out-and-out laughing. The dollies. The stuffed animals. The Legos. The birthday parties. The popsicles. The cookies. The splashing in the kiddie pool, the squirting with the hose on a blistering hot summer day. The squealing! The school days. The homework. The parent volunteering.  The high school graduations. The trips to college. And then those graduations.

“Mom” was bringing little girls to Sunday School every week, worshipping with them, seeing them all come to Christ. “Mom” was the joy of knowing they each had a relationship with Jesus and the pleasure of watching them grow in their own Christian walk.

“Mom” was all that, and more – much more. I heard about a woman rhapsodizing about how great her experience on one of those reality shows had been, since being a mom had meant her life had been “put on hold.”  On hold? Oh, dear lady, think about what you said! Being a mom means you are privileged – privileged to raise up a new generation of hard, diligent workers, honest, kind neighbors and solid, helpful friends. You have the incredible opportunity to help better the world and everyone in it as you work to shape a young life into someone who will do the same for others. A calling, a purpose – but never a life “on hold.”

So, yes, that’s me. It's the best thing I’ve ever done. Thank you, Lord – “that’s the mom!”