Learning to Walk

I didn't get to kiss the husband goodbye this morning, and I won't get to kiss him goodnight tonight. He is on call in the hospital, tending to sick children. And, though I'm not in the hospital, I'm also tending to my sick child. I've been curled up next to Atrain since the wee hours of the morning, whose feverish forehead I've been kissing all day long. That poor boy. It hurts to watch his little body battle off this infection. At least it's not vertigo.

Jdog had an awesome day indoors--crawling and climbing to his content. Yes, I just wrote climbing. He barrels over toys and pillow piles like they're nothing. And today he started pulling up onto the couch. The little rugrat was so proud of himself. Every time he pulled to stand he would pause, look at me, then giggle as he grabbed a handful of Atrain's hair. Usually Atrain is a pretty good sport about Jdog's lovingly abusive behavior (he has a knack for clawing into and and clamping onto skin, hair, what have you). But today Atrain just said, "I don't want you doing that baby J." And, I don't blame him.

So, as Atrain lay sick on the couch, Jdog and I attended to his every need. But in between temperature taking we piddled around, read books, and resurrected old toys. Atrain and I used to comb the shelves of the DI for great learning toys. We still do, but not nearly as much as we used to. I ran out of storage space. I love toys. Our bag of puppets brought back so many memories: guaranteed fun for everyone. I was thrilled when Jdog started signing "duck." So adorable.

Sometimes it's hard to know how much my kids acknowledge my existence--or if I'm just like any other implicit part of their day: like the color of the sky or the ground beneath their feet. It's hard not to feel like just an extra appendage my children have hooked to them to carry them, clothe them, feed them, etc. But then they begin to do something you do: to say what you say, or smile with the same crinkle in their brow. And, like magic, you remember how much they are looking to you, learning from you, turning to you for every need. It feels good to be theirs: to be their dirt, their grass, their concrete, and to feel their little feet learning to walk on mine.

Lose Yourself

Many strange things have happened to me as a mother. I’ve watched my abdomen balloon to the size of a basketball and independently wobble with life inside; I’ve become completely tolerant of touching many disgusting bodily byproducts; and, random line-ups of toy cars are an integral part of my interior decoration scheme (just to name a few). But, perhaps one of the strangest things that occasionally happens amidst all of the things I’m trying to find (sunscreen, keys, the card, the grocery list, the email responses, the dirty diaper, where Atrain may have put Fin McMissile, which side I fed Jdog on last, etc. etc. etc.), is that it’s easy to loose myself in the mix.

It’s strange, really, when I search for the familiar sense of self I thought I knew so well, only to find pieces of that person and some undefined stuff in between. I hear my voice and the nagging, “Please obey me when I ask you the first time,” words I speak and I idealize the former version of myself, wondering where the fun, sweet, spontaneous me went. Next, I lose focus, which then inevitably leads to a harrowing, guilty conscience. Yesterday, I actually asked my mom, “Why do we do it?” The words tasted biter and full of regret as soon as they left my tongue.

Of course I know why. And the only reason I asked my mom such a stupid question was because I knew she would understand what I really meant: help. After a few good conversations and some un-tethered time catching up on my scripture study, LDS conference council and enjoying my kiddos sans household duties, my perspective is a lot clearer. I am a mother because I love God. I am a mother because I love my husband. I am a mother because I love the little souls I am blessed to nurture—so much that I want to turn myself inside out to protect them. I am a mother because I know that raising good kids is the greatest contribution I can make. Nothing is more important than this responsibility I chose to bear.

Perhaps that is why it is so difficult; I want to be the best mothering-me I can be, but I am still learning who she is. I’m sure I will always be, and I am ok with that. This weekend the words of a familiar scripture wrote themselves so clearly in my mind, and took on new meaning:

Matthew 10:39, “He that findeth his life shall lose it: and he that loseth his life for my sake shall find it.”

I want to get lost in motherhood. I don’t need to be concerned about that me that I was when I didn’t have kids and how she compares to the me that I am now. I am going to focus on who I am becoming, rather than who I was. And, when I’m wishing for a little more of myself to go around, I need to remember that God can make more of me than I could have ever make of myself.