It was circa 1999… January 13th, and I’m this terrified very young woman, just 22 years-old, it’s around 1ish-2ish PM. I’ve been told that I’m 42 weeks pregnant, and because I’m not at all dilated nor effaced, I’m going to have to be induced.
The excitement starts!
I was told to be at the hospital around 7PM, I show up at 6… because, I’m nuts. Wait for a while, and then get a room where things start getting inserted into places hoping to produce some signs of labor. Fast forward… many, many hours later, and on January 14th at 8PM, I meet my daughter.
She didn’t cry.
It was maybe seconds (or less) … it felt like hours. I didn’t know then, what I know now, but that was a preview to what parenting would be like for the rest of this journey. Moments of suspended animation where as a mom you feel like you’re tumbling out of an aircraft without a parachute and completely exposed and vulnerable. Parenting would be, and is, the single most difficult thing I’ve ever done.
Once she cried, I felt myself start breathing… I held my breath, until she took hers. That’s how I live my life even now. The calls late at night, out of the blue… I hold my breath. My youngest, getting lost in a store… I held my breath. I don’t mean to; it’s like the simplest task of functioning becomes too great a burden. In those moments of sudden overwhelming anxiousness every ounce of my existence becomes hyper-focused on them, an insane tunnel-vision world. Them. These humans God gave me to look after. These people, that in their very presence represent a part of me, that is no longer with me. My heart, living and breathing outside of my body. A version of me, that is precious, but I cannot protect them, as I would my skin from the cold. A part of me, that at a certain point, goes off to do its own thing.
After that initial cry, the next 22-years have gone by very quickly.
I’m proud of all of my children… heck, I haven’t killed them… they’re survivors! :)
There’s something about the 1st one though. As a parent, you make some really stupid mistakes. You overbuy baby items that are “cute” but not practical. You, over estimate “germs”. You, panic at coughs, and sneezes, and cries. You, are a bit stricter, a bit tougher, a bit more rigid. The first born, kind-of breaks a parent in.
This part of me, turns 22 tomorrow. I can’t believe it.
God, granted me the immense privilege and honor of being this woman’s mother.
Can I just say, that I’m already floored and humbled by HIS love and care for me. By the awesome gift of salvation HE gave me through HIS son. HIS son, the sacrifice of HIS son. HIS only son! and yet HE still saw fit to grant me the life-altering gift of motherhood? HIS grace and mercy over my life has been persistent, relentless, and constant, even when I faltered… and DAYUUUM did I falter.
Has this endeavor of motherhood sucked, at times? HECK YES! Would I do some stuff differently? Of course! Have these 22-years forever changed me? Absolutely. Would I do it all over again? In a heart-beat… just to re-live those precious moments of holding them in my arms for the first time, rocking them to sleep, walking them to kindergarten, seeing them fall in-love with Christ, I’d do it all again just to experience this life with each of them, once more.
Happy 22nd to my daughter.