My first born turned 25 this week. Twenty-five-years-old. A quarter of a century.
Nearly half my lifetime ago I became a mother. Looking at this photo of us on our first Mother’s Day through my bifocaled eyes today, I now believe I was about as much a baby at the time as she was.
There is so much about motherhood that I love, but these things make me particularly thankful:
The awesome responsibility for the sheltering and safe-keeping of small people. No other challenge in my life compares in importance.
Earning the trust of those little ones who relied on me.
The closeness and simple joy of breast feeding.
Memories of bath time and bedtime stories snuggly, warm and sweet.
The opportunity to have my child think I know everything—and then decide I don’t—and finally decide that even though I don’t know everything, I know enough.
The realization that there are things (people) for whom I would lay down my life.
Seeing other loved ones in the faces and actions of my children.
The gift of the long view–where I get to see the adult version of the traits and talents I first recognized in my small children. What a joy to watch their childhood personalities lead them into their life’s work.
The memory of fluttery, shuddery movements inside me letting me know a healthy baby was really growing there.
The incredible sound of the baby’s strong, even heartbeat.
All the firsts. First tooth, first step, first day of school, first love.
Watching my parents fall madly and helplessly in love with my children.
Feeling a deeper appreciation for my own parents and how they raised me after acquiring first-hand knowledge of what a difficult job parenting is.
And most of all–Two young ladies and a young man who need to do nothing more than be themselves to make my heart swell with pride, love and joy.
#932-951 of My One-Thousand Gifts
I could have predicted that I couldn’t do this one in 10.