A Newfound Respect

After two weeks of my sweet Henry being with us, I realized how hard it was to really care for a child.  Lots of people have babies, it’s true.  And lots of people talk about how wonderful it is to be a mother.  True, it is wonderful (for lack of a better word).  Lots of people simply leave out, what for me, was a couple difficult weeks to transition to motherhood.

I had, what my sister called, a two week “honeymoon” period after Henry was born.  Everything was great…until the slap in the face came.  Breastfeeding--which is literally, by definition, a full time job--was not going so well.  I had absolutely no idea how hard it would be when I told the nurse I would be breastfeeding my baby.  As the weeks followed, I was often asked by others how we were adjusting to life with a baby.  I was not shy to tell people we were definitely adjusting and were still trying to “get the whole breastfeeding thing down.”  I quickly found out that nearly everyone has a saga to tell.  I realized I was not alone.  I guess it is all part of being a mom.  Who knew?

My mom is a worrier…is it genetic?  I have never worried so much in my life.  I have never worried about a server dropping hot food, until I had a baby sleeping at the end of the table in a car seat.  I have never worried about anyone close to me not having enough food, until I started feeding a baby.  I have never worried about not having a doctor’s appointment (does everyone besides Henry have a two-week checkup??), until I had a baby without one.  I have never worried about anybody gaining weight, until I had a baby that I wasn’t sure was gaining weight.  Get it?  I worry about EVERYTHING.  Maybe it is part of being a mom???

While my parents were visiting, we went out to dinner at La Fuente (my favorite!).  A mom walked in with her three young kids and husband.  I could tell the mother loved her children, but she had several moments of frustration.  At that moment, I looked at her and all mothers with a newfound respect.  I appreciated all mothers, especially my mother, in a new way.  I realized that it really isn’t easy.  I somehow realized for the first time all the hard work I had somehow overlooked before I became a mother.

  

My mom was always one who I could talk to about any and everything, one who loved me unconditionally, one who let me help cook dinner (even if it meant slowing her down at times), one who taught me discipline, hard work, manners, how to serve, and how to love.  I’ve always known my mom was amazing and that our relationship was unique, but now I appreciate her even more.

I love and appreciate her more for doing the mundane things day in and day out: for always keeping the house clean, making homemade lunches, cooking dinner, doing my laundry (for a loooong time), driving me to appointments, etc., etc., etc.  And even though it seems like every mother’s day I thank her for these things, this mother’s day I thank her with a greater appreciation and understanding for what she did.

I love her more for her example of selflessness.  She never complained about the things a mom does and puts her family first.  She never complained about doing the mundane things.  She always expressed love through her service, words, and especially her time.  She constantly made an effort to show her support for us in school, church, and extra curricular activities.  She was unfailingly available to talk to, and still is.  I appreciate her for her willingness to talk to me about me and never seems to be concerned about talking about herself.

I think what I appreciate most about her now is the way she loved her role as mother.  Because of her, I have always longed to be a mother, where I could care for someone the way she cared for me.  My mom and I have always had a good relationship and I’ve always hoped I would have the same with my children.  She has, at moments, briefly mentioned being a mother was hard work, but never talked badly about her experience of being mom.  She embraced everything about motherhood and continues to fulfill her role as a mother. 

In a nutshell, my mom is the mother I hope to be…even if it means being a worrier.