The Mother In Me

This was posted on another blog today. It truly expresses what I believe all of us Mommas would say. (I've changed a few thoughts to reflect adoption rather than natural birth)

the mother in me

I've known I wanted to be a mother since the day I was born.

Well, probably not since the actual day I was born. That's a little extreme. But from the time I first knew what a mother was. Or maybe since when I realized that I possessed the genetic makeup to, indeed, be able to become a mother some day.

Regardless, it's been a long time. But it feels like it's been always that I've known that motherhood was for me.

As a young girl, I loved children. And drawing. And baby names. And drawing pictures of children and giving them unique names. I spent countless hours as a child, sitting up in my bed under my pink canopy, using my Trapper Keeper as a hard surface, drawing pictures of all my future children. Oh, and giving them each long, fanciful names, of course.

I was going to have twelve children, I was sure. Naturally, this was before I had any inkling the fertility treatments, 2 year paperwork journey, forgot that I'd need to find a husband who was up for such a feat, and didn't realize a family of that size would require at least two cargo vans for our transportation.

And, although part of me would honestly, truly love to have twelve children, there are other parts of me that I don't think could handle it.

I have basically always wanted children. Wanted to be a mother. I thought mothering would be so wonderful, so magical, and so lovely. Naming, dressing and playing with Many Small Children all day long? What could be better!?

And, even though, back then, I was a bit hazy on some of the finer details associated with parenting (you know, like dying llama hissy fits, sippy cups full of mold behind the couch and time outs), I still think I hit the nail on the head.

There is very little that is better than mothering.

But not exactly for the reasons I first thought. Sure, there are wonderful moments in mothering, magical memories created with our offspring, lovely late-night snuggles with heavy-lidded babies. But parenting is also hard work. And it's not glamorous. We don't often get the support we need, we struggle with mother's guilt and sometimes feel we need to keep up with the Jones'. Our children sass back and our best-laid plans are trampled on. We must often face our own shortcomings, because they are revealed to us so readily as we make attempts, but fail, at being perfect parents.

But there is good that can be brought forth from the hurt that parenting sometimes brings. Moments of revelation to be found even amidst the clamor of Many Small Children. Beauty to be derived out of the ashes of mother failure. Joy that can only be discovered in helping God raise another human being. There is meaning in the mundane, a purpose beyond potty-training, and a peace that can only be gained when one has learned to calmly deal with a tantruming toddler at Target.

Having children is worth it. And, although I was inspired to start my family for one reason, Prince Charming and I have continued for another.

I love making our family.

But I don't love it for the dirty diapers, the sleepless nights, the aching back or the endless whining. I don't love it for the dings in our walls, the screeching down the halls or the visits from CPS.

I love it in spite of all that. And I love mothering for how wading through all the difficulties that mothering brings transforms me for the better.

Mothering is one of the toughest, most beautiful things I have ever done.

And it's totally worth it.