I’m listening to the baby monitor. My son is coughing off and on. He calms and snores softly, then resumes coughing. This is his pattern. I’m praying he gets rest tonight…and I’m wishing there was more I could do to ease his discomfort.
But I can’t make his cough disappear, I can only soothe him, rock him, and apply Vic’s to his chest.
That’s why I’m here.
To wrap my arms around him.
To read stories.
To sing songs.
To teach him “no” means “no.”
To encourage him to eat the carrots, not feed them to the dog.
To help him navigate a crazy world.
To let him know he has a mind and can think for himself.
To remind him to pray.
To point him to Jesus.
To teach him compassion.
I’m here to love him.
I’m not here to buy him the next best toy.
I’m not here to enroll him in every up and coming kiddie class.
I’m not here to attempt perfection in motherhood.
I’m not here to foster his sense of entitlement. (He has enough of that all on his own considering he’s a toddler)
I’m not here to be his friend, his roommate, or his “get out of jail free” card.
I’m here to parent him.
It’s my blessing and joy. It’s hard and wild and ridiculous. It’s fantastic, fun, and fulfilling.
I get tired and annoyed. I grow irritable. I am imperfect. I want to be selfish all too often.
But I love my son.
And that’s the power of true motherhood: love.
Paul wrote, “If I have not love, I am a clanging cymbal.”
Sometimes, the clanging of the chaos of a typcial week threatens to overtake the force of love.
But, when I pause, look into those green-brown eyes, feel those tiny arms encircle my neck, love chimes louder than the chaos.
Love gives the strength.. makes us whole.. guides our decisions…
Love encompasses every word….
Everybody sleeps well.