We sat on the stairs together. Her arms were folded tight and she would’t look me in the eye.
I spent some time wooing her out of her bedroom and we ended up compromising on the bottom step.
I sat next to her and waited. I waited for my little girl –who reminds me constantly that 10 year olds aren’t little– to let me in.
She had been angry for a week.
But I knew underneath the fuming, she was hurt and afraid.
After a little while, I nudged her with an arm and said, “Honey, why are you so mad?”
I’m. Not. Mad. she answered through gritted teeth.
So, I waited some more. When I felt her little body relax a little, I said quietly,”You know, I’ve never had a fourth grade daughter go through what you’re facing. . .” We both knew I was referring to the tragic car accident that took her classmate’s sister and how every time my oldest gets behind the wheel, it sends a tremor of fear through this little sister sitting next to me. “I get scared too, you know. But we have to trust God, honey,” I said.
She looked over at me with big brown eyes and I could see a crack in her resolve.
She finally talked a little about how she was feeling and then asked me again to check my phone to see if her big sister had arrived to youth group safely. Once I reassured her, she ran off to play with the dog.
I went to my room and cried.
Because some days I’m just as afraid as she is….I’ve been battling the what-if’s since these babies were growing in my belly and now as I watch her big sister back out of the driveway and listen to my son biggest fears and count the years they have left with me on one hand, I am afraid. And when my kids tell me about the injustices in their world, I am angry. Because when my kids hurt, I hurt, too.
Motherhood is the toughest job we will ever love.
We wipe runny noses and bloody knees; boogers and butts and more tears than we can count.
We chase quick toddlers and chase away fears.
We hold pudgy hands and broken hearts.
We watch all the firsts and we watch them fly.
We worry and wonder and wish.
We pull and push and plead and oh my, we pray.
We read a million words to them and rally in the middle of the night for them and run to their rescue but refuse to right their every mistake. We work and wait and watch them; we lead and love and we let go.
We make a billion choices in their lifetime and we thank God we get to make them when we remember mothers around the world who have no choices at all.
We are mothers.
Motherhood: It’s a hard job because we love them so much.