To Be His Mother

There are a lot of days during which I am simply overwhelmed by motherhood.

The neverending chores and responsibilities.
The realization that for the next 16.5 years I will not have a day off. Ever.
The crumbs on the living room floor.
The constant contact with another person's bodily fluids.
The whining and crying and moping.
The complete lack of logic and understanding.
The inability to feel adequate.

It's all quite exhausting normally.

But every now and again:
I decide that Wendy's is an appropriate dinner.
I do the whole day by myself, I look around the bedroom, the living room, and the kitchen at night and decide to forgo the traditional "putting away of the toys" ceremony.
I allow the child to throw the washcloth in and out of the bathtub over and over again soaking everything in the room (including the library books) simply because the "plop" of the soggy washcloth makes him giggle and  his giggle makes me smile. Laughing almost as hard as he is, we both collapse on the bathroom floor for lack of oxygen.

Then in the quiet lullaby moments of the evening, that exhausting, noisy, dirty, stinky child rests his head on my chest and says "more, more, more" at the end of each song. So I sing, more more more, while he snuggles his head and his lovey bear deeper and deeper into me because there is no hug tight enough.

Those are the moments I am so overwhelmed with the honor it is to be a mother. The vast amount of love purely flowing between the two of us brings tears to my eyes. I put my hand to his forehead while I sing "You Are My Sunshine" and gently stroke his forehead the way my mom did to me. I say a silent prayer thanking my Heavenly Father for The Experience. Because right now, in this moment, surrounded by the mess and endless signs that would normally scream "failure" to me, I simply can't imagine anything better or more overwhelmingly beautiful.

Those are the moments, when I wonder why, and give thanks that I was chosen to be his mother.