Motherhood

Thirty-three years ago today, love filled my heart like nothing I ever could have imagined--my first child was born.

Having yearned for a child for years, enduring infertility along the way, I thought this day would never come. In fact Mr. Jorie and I had started the process of adopting a little girl in my classroom, since the natural way of getting pregnant had not seemed to work.

Eventually however, having prayers answered, baby showers attended, having read every book on pregnancy, childbirth, and bringing up baby completed, I was ready for the "fairy tale" life of motherhood to begin. I was pregnant.

Labor and delivery went fine, and there in my arms was a precious, healthy baby boy.

On the third day we took him home from the hospital and then we just set him down in his crib, in his fancy newly decorated nursery, and looked and looked at our child. Other than gazing at him, we were complete novices in spite of the information I had read.

Soon the child began to cry. The first inkling of the real world had begun! His needs had to be met. As the days continued we managed to learn the art of childcare. Of course changing diapers and clothing, and nursing an infant actually were not too difficult.

That is until the time that many nights of little sleep for the new mommy created stress. I learned that baby's needs came first and my needs only were met once his were--and sometimes not met at all.

Prior to my baby entering the world, I had this fantastic idea that once I had a child, having yearned and struggled for him to be here, every thing in life would be absolutely lovely. I really believed that.

I would try to tell myself that, getting up several times a night and nursing the child in the special rocking chair my father-in-law had given us, was pure joy.

Having him wake up twenty minutes after nursing and then starting the process all over again throughout the night, and then night after night, sleep deprivation for me began.

In that state I reached the point where I had to acknowledge that being awakened several times a night was not joyful. In fact, I dare say that some resentment set in.

I couldn't believe how I was feeling.

My child was five months old when I finally came to terms with my role as a mother. In a moment of crystal clear thinking (I can remember it until this day) I accepted that motherhood was mostly about putting the needs of my child over my own.

Yes, it seemed so simple once I made the realization. I had given up my autonomy once I had given birth. I learned that three more times as each child added to the family needed me in ways that only I could fulfill.

It was actually liberating however, to accept that childrearing was no fairy tale, and realizing that a much bigger and better association with my children was far superior to my own wants and needs.

Having closed the chapter on the fairy tale myth, I grew in so many ways as my little guy had patiently waited for the "real" mommy to get her act together.

Thirty-three years is a long time to be a mom. I have truly loved the job in spite of the hard times and because of the marvelous good times, and all the "every days" in between where life really happens.

Yes, I became a mom on this date many years ago.

Yes, I long ago learned that my children were everything to me.

Yes, now that they are adults, I am so happy to see them succeed in the real world because I willingly gave them my all.