'Cause I'm a Mom

I had my first child in 1979. I was a mature 23 years old, married 3 1/2 years and I knew that I was completely competent and prepared for parenthood. When I announced the joyful news to my mother she responded, with a shellshocked look on her face, "You're too young." With an air of bravado, I replied, "How much can it cost to feed a baby?" Right then and there I proved her point.

After 35 hours of labor, culminating in an emergency C-section, I delivered a healthy, 9 pound 4 ounce baby girl. As I awoke from the anesthesia, I was handed this small, warm and slightly cranky human being and realized that I was now expected to know what to do with it. Oh, Mom. . .?

I remember being in complete awe of her, in love with her, but wondering: When will I feel like a mother? What IS that anyway? I found out a year later as I was rocking my baby, who was sick with a double ear infection and pneumonia, in the wee hours of the morning. As I hummed to her and tried to soothe her, I finally felt like a mom.

Within the next 4 years, two more little ones followed - a boy in 1981 and another girl in 1984. Then, as they say in the Olympics, the games began. I was immersed in getting the oldest one ready for kindergarten, changing diapers on the youngest and constantly entertaining the one in between. I'll confess that this became a point in my life where I felt that I was pretty much insignificant and my brain had turned to mush. I couldn't carry on a conversation without mentioning Bert & Ernie at some point. I was a step backward in the liberation of women - a stay-at-home mom. I dreaded the social interactions that were occasionally required of me as the wife of a junior executive; I crammed on the newspaper headlines before his work-related dinners and cocktal parties in the vain hope that I could carry on an adult conversation. Unfortunately, the only topic of conversation that came naturally for me was the response to the question, "How are the children?"

Years passed, little people grew and, finally, everyone was in school. I went back to work part time - as a substitute teacher at the school. More years passed - far too quickly as I look back, and we moved through braces, drivers' licenses, groundings and graduations. And then, all too soon, they were on their own.

I moved on, too. I went back to school, and then went to work in a job that I love, one that is suited to my abilities. I make a contribution. I am valued. So what about all those years of child-rearing? All the years of the sense that I lacked individuality and personhood - what about that?

My son, who used to pull up a chair and stand on it, watching as I cooked, is now a chef in Los Angeles. He hopes to start his own restaurant in the next year or two. My younger daughter, who used to play with my makeup, is now a successful sales rep for a cosmetics company, and is developing her own line of makeup.

Today I sat in church as my eldest served as liturgist, and I stood by her side as we served communion together. She is in grad school, working toward her master's degree in divinity. And it occurred to me at last: My life has not been about me. I have had the privilege and blessing of bringing three distinct individuals into this world and helping them grow to adulthood - to become the people that God destined them to be. Some of us are meant to be the nurturers and encouragers - the ones who stand on the sidelines and cheer. I am a vessel.

I'm a mom. And I can't think of any greater gift in all the world.