I wrote the following yesterday, but it seemed so fluffy compared to the trauma of Momma bird. The thought remains:
When my kids were younger, all I wanted for Mother's Day was to be away from them. A day to be "the old me": who did not know who Barney or Little Bear were (we didn't even have the Wiggles yet), who could finish a meal without anyone (including herself) screaming, who could walk across a room without tripping on a small toy or small person, and could leave the house without 20 minutes of prep work. I do not have that strong desire anymore, and the old me is slowly emerging, having been softened, stretched, and transformed by the Diaper Days.
This Mother's Day I find myself marveling at the precious souls that I have been entrusted with, housed in those beautiful freckled bodies with the smelliest feet on the planet. I feel awed by the privilege of being "Mom" to these two, and overwhelmed by the responsibility of leading them in His way. This Mother's Day, more than anything, I'm so thankful to be a mother.
"I can't think of another career more challenging and satisfying than to pour my energies into the daily task of making order out of chaos, music out of noise, communication out of babble, purposefulness out of purposelessness, pointing chubby little wayward feet gently toward the Path, lighting ignorance with knowledge and confusion with understanding." -- Brenda Sawyer
