The great mystery of motherhood...
That you could love a child so much and sometimes wish to ship that child off to a far away land.
That you would wish away the long, tiresome moments in a day and simultaneously wish to turn back the clock on the fleeting years.
That you can take such pride in a clean home and loathe the keeping after it.
That you find yourself loving and equally despising kids' music. Ditto on cartoon characters.
That you can't wait for your little one to start talking, and then you can't wait for them to stop with the constant commentary.
That you want them to be kids, but expect them to act like grown ups.
That you hate illness and their bouts with fever, but love that extra time spent in your arms, needy and still.
That you want to give your child everything you have, except the habits and shortcomings you could do without, yourself.
That you hope your kids will do what you say, and not as you do. Which never really works.
That you would feel immensely strong for bringing a child into the world just to experience complete inadequacy in raising that child.
That you believe and know that motherhood's the most important job you'll ever have, and yet struggle to feel content with the doing of it.
That you long to be free of clingy little hands during waking hours just to crave to hold them when they are asleep.
The great mystery of motherhood is that we are all more capable than we think ourselves to be, but more inadequate than our pride allows us to believe. We are weaker than we are willing to admit, but stronger than we realize his transforming to be.
As Ann said yesterday in her compelling post, "You mother as well as you know your Father."
...which pours out from my heart as:
Becoming a better mother is to become a more dependent child.
For all that is a mystery and in contradiction from day to day, for all that you are and who you are yet to become...be lowly, be subject, be a child of the King. He is at work to make all things new.
