What a mother!
May 7, 2009
Since all the rave this week is about Mother's Day, I thought I'd give my version of what's special about the mothers I know. They--no, we--are the ones who have been there from conception, or from the day we met the kids (some of us have never given birth), and have taken all the precautions, read all the warnings, and avoided all the dangers we heard, read, or learned about somehow. We nurse the mind, body, and soul, and provide a level of comfort and security nobody else could understand. We abandon some of our own ways, needs, and plans for the sake of those entrusted in our care, and it makes us stronger for having done so simply because that little person needs us to.
You should be able to get the gist of all that intangible, emotional, spiritual stuff we do; let's talk about the tangibles. Oh I know I'm gonna miss a lot, but this segment is just a thought--not a monologue. So anyway, let's talk about finding the diapers that won't give the baby a rash, the formula that makes them throw up less--or how about that breastfeeding because we don't even want that drama, and the brain is a terrible thing to undernourish. The millions of socks through the years because the older they get, the blacker those seem to get and more often. The millions of pairs of underwear--all kinds because big boys and girls want big boy and girl underwear. We go from the undershirts, bibs, sleepers, pretty bows, little jackets and hats, to the bikes, scooters, skateboards, roller blades, designer this and that, the Jordans or Lebrons in a class by themselves, and let's not forget the tons of food they have and will continue to eat on your tab. The times you leave work to make that appointment, the copay you forked over, the health insurance you carry at the family rate, and those prescriptions and medical aids. Let's talk about the millions in lunch money, snack money, field trip money, and the times you volunteered because they begged you to come to the school and help out. Oh, and you sat at the public library and read with them before they checked out a bag full of books.
I know I didn't even touch the scrapes you kissed, the hugs you gave, or the vomit you cleaned up. I realize I missed the upset stomachs, the emergency room trips, and those broken bones. And somehow I wanted to say all that without a disparaging remark to others, but I have to say I know some fathers who have done the same things, who haven't missed a beat, who refuse to stay away, and who simply ask their kids "how was your day" more often than not. Which would make me say in contrast, I know some _____ who haven't bought a sock, a pair of underwear, not one undershirt, and who have no idea what their kids do, or need, or want, or have because...well I can't imagine why. I know we want to string them up and beat the crap out of them, but right is right; we must simply offer prayer on their behalf. They're obviously in need of something only God can provide, and they must be pretty lonely too; there's absolutely nothing in this world better than the love of your child. Not marriage, not food, not even life itself. You'd gladly trade any of the above for your progeny. Show me someone who thinks I'm wrong, and I'll show you someone who has never been a parent.
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Posted at: 10:05 AM | Add Comment
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