As my oldest daughter grows in age I am beginning to see what it’s like to be the parent of a busy kid, and as we rush to dance class or school I realize just how hectic having a child can be sometimes. I think back to the beautiful, precious moments where I rocked a swaddled baby to sleep, and I miss the sweet stillness of those moments.
The interesting part is that back then I was eager for her to grow. I wanted to hurry past the colicky nights, and I couldn’t wait for her to sit, then crawl, then walk. And while I try to remember exactly what her chubby, gummy smile looked like my reminiscent thoughts are interrupted by proclamations of “I’m bored Mom. Let’s go.”
As it stands now we’re often going, and even if it’s nowhere important there seems to be this air of urgency that creeps in unaware, pushing me to get little socks and shoes on wiggly, growing feet while proclaiming hurriedly, “come on! Let’s go!”
So often I find myself rushing from here to there, and even when there’s nowhere to go I find myself on edge over mundane tasks such as fixing dinner and getting the laundry completed. In the midst of my everyday the little voices of my children keep asking me repeated questions, making multiple, continuous requests for my assistance, and all the while I’m just longing for a nap. For them, for me; either way.
I recently planned an outing to visit the Easter bunny at the mall, and I dressed my girls for the part. Tiny panty hose and socks, smocked dresses with matching bows, and weary words from this woman right here of, “come on. Hurry up. Let’s go.”
And as we drove along the highway, an hour-long journey to get there, I attempted to listen to a sermon on my phone. From the back seat excited voices asked how much longer, and the toddler cried, “hold me” and “I have to pee!” So I paused the sermon before it had even gotten good and started, and I said, “okay baby. Momma will stop.” And then I smiled. I smiled, and I was so happy I did.
So often, too often, I forget the most basic fundamental of parenthood. I let this absolute truth pass me by in favor of frustration, and I miss out on precious moments. In my rush to go here, and my determination to do that I miss it. In my laundry list of things to complete, and in my ever-present fatigue I lose sight of what my children truly are to my life.
But as I sat in my driver’s seat of my minivan, looking into the rearview mirror with a goofy grin plastered across my face, I remembered the important part. I realized the solid truth that I too often forget. My children are a gift.
As we later ate in a fancy restaurant, and they grew restless with the wait, running amuck out in the aisle, I still smiled at the opportunity I had before me. Indeed I had been blessed with the opportunity to raise tiny humans, and I had been charged with the lofty position of molding young minds for a future generation. Not only that, but I also was afforded the ability to watch their characters shape, and for their personalities to blossom into the beautiful women of God that they would become.
Was it frustrating at times? Oh my goodness, yes! And that was okay. It was okay to be tired, frustrated, and confused, but I couldn’t forget the basic calling that had been placed in my hands. I couldn’t allow the difficulty of the task to rob me of the joy, to make me blind to the rewards that were right there for the taking.
My job was to raise these wonderful babies, but it was more than a job. It was also my gift. My gift of motherhood. And I realized then, as I had before, that this time is fleeting. This time of sporadic questions and “hey mom, look here” or “hold me;” these moments were speeding by. One day I would look up from folding laundry, and these gifts of dressing little girls in homemade frocks would be gone.
My only choice was to savor the time I had, to enjoy every passing second, for they passed too quickly. Parenthood was hard. It was aggravating quite often, and an under-appreciated title for sure, but it was mine. It was my gift. I could lose sight of that, or I could hold it tightly and breathe in its sweet fragrance.
That day I chose to breathe. I chose to smile. I chose to not forget that parenthood is a gift.