If I weren’t a mother it is certain that I would look a good ten years younger. From the moment I found out I was expecting, the wrinkles began to meticulously etch themselves on my face. And each time one of my children cries out in sadness, or pain the lines around my eyes deepen with sorrow for them.
But because I am a mother, the lines that surround my mouth are deep and true – for each time I hear my children giggle in delight, their laughter is contagious and I cannot help but smile with them. And though I am certain I would appear far more youthful had I not been blessed with children, these lines imprinted deep within my face are my memories. Memories of all the elation and the empathy I feel for my children. So each line represents a birth, a year of accomplished milestones, an illness, a hospital visit, the first day of school, the collection of days that incredibly turn into years. Though I wouldn’t mind a more youthful appearance, I have learned to wear these lines with pride, as they are the stories I have created.
If I weren’t a mother, I might not observe dear friends in amazement who have more than two children and wonder how on earth they ever manage to shower, have a real conversation, make a bed, tidy a room, be a wife and fix a meal while their little army marches on in the background. Those ladies are the true heroes.
If I weren’t a mother I would never not truly understand the meaning of empathy. No doubt about it, it is hard work to raise another human being. Most of the time I wonder, doubt, cry and seek advice from others regarding my parenting methods. I frequently ponder whether or not my tactics are creating the type of people I wish to associate with - the kind hearted, hard working, honest to goodness genuine people that I have come to admire. I wonder how on earth I missed all the demands of raising a child when I observed my own mother, her friends and relatives when I was growing up. Gosh, they all seemed to make it look so easy.
If I weren’t a mother I wouldn’t truly embrace what it means to be exhausted. I now understand when I gaze into another mother’s eyes and realize that she hasn’t slept a full 8 hours in years. I can stare admirably at other mothers who have their clothes neatly pressed, hair perfectly arranged, nails freshly manicured and wonder when and how that all happened and when that will ever happen again for me?
If I weren’t a mother I would not know what it means to embrace humility. On more than one occasion I have left my house in utter shambles. Whether it is food in my hair, vomit on my shirt, dirt or another brown substance strewn across my pants, I have been there. I’ve been shit on, barfed on, bitten, hit, and flooded with tears until my own face was wet. I have often wondered when I went from a human being to a pack mule – carrying a child on my front, a backpack on my back and a toddler in my arms. But with my newfound humility I have learned many a lesson from my children and the word preserve means ever so much these days.
If I weren’t a mother I wouldn’t have ever realized that sometimes a four year old can teach us far more than any classroom ever will. From the ability to share, to speak unfiltered and brutality honest, to realizing that sometimes a simple hug will fix almost any bad situation. If I weren’t a mother I might just have forgotten what fun it is to let go every now and then – get dirty, chase butterflies and build sandcastles. I might have also forgotten the warmth of being tucked in and read to each evening. Maybe all of life’s greatest worries can be solved from a four year old. Be kind, listen, share, sleep well, read, run, laugh and play – often.
If I weren’t a mother I would not have a life that has been riddled with tremendous joy. I would not know the connection that one can share with another human being as deeply as I have come to connect with my own children. I would not know what it means to hope, pray and wish that the lives of my children far exceed my own life. I wouldn’t know the way it feels to breathe in another person, hug so tightly, cry so vulnerably and love so utterly uncontrollably.
If I weren’t a mother, I might not observe dear friends in amazement who have more than two children and wonder how on earth they ever manage to shower, have a real conversation, make a bed, tidy a room, be a wife and fix a meal while their little army marches on in the background. Those ladies are the true heroes.
If I weren’t a mother I would never not truly understand the meaning of empathy. No doubt about it, it is hard work to raise another human being. Most of the time I wonder, doubt, cry and seek advice from others regarding my parenting methods. I frequently ponder whether or not my tactics are creating the type of people I wish to associate with - the kind hearted, hard working, honest to goodness genuine people that I have come to admire. I wonder how on earth I missed all the demands of raising a child when I observed my own mother, her friends and relatives when I was growing up. Gosh, they all seemed to make it look so easy.
If I weren’t a mother I wouldn’t truly embrace what it means to be exhausted. I now understand when I gaze into another mother’s eyes and realize that she hasn’t slept a full 8 hours in years. I can stare admirably at other mothers who have their clothes neatly pressed, hair perfectly arranged, nails freshly manicured and wonder when and how that all happened and when that will ever happen again for me?
If I weren’t a mother I would not know what it means to embrace humility. On more than one occasion I have left my house in utter shambles. Whether it is food in my hair, vomit on my shirt, dirt or another brown substance strewn across my pants, I have been there. I’ve been shit on, barfed on, bitten, hit, and flooded with tears until my own face was wet. I have often wondered when I went from a human being to a pack mule – carrying a child on my front, a backpack on my back and a toddler in my arms. But with my newfound humility I have learned many a lesson from my children and the word preserve means ever so much these days.
If I weren’t a mother I wouldn’t have ever realized that sometimes a four year old can teach us far more than any classroom ever will. From the ability to share, to speak unfiltered and brutality honest, to realizing that sometimes a simple hug will fix almost any bad situation. If I weren’t a mother I might just have forgotten what fun it is to let go every now and then – get dirty, chase butterflies and build sandcastles. I might have also forgotten the warmth of being tucked in and read to each evening. Maybe all of life’s greatest worries can be solved from a four year old. Be kind, listen, share, sleep well, read, run, laugh and play – often.
If I weren’t a mother I would not have a life that has been riddled with tremendous joy. I would not know the connection that one can share with another human being as deeply as I have come to connect with my own children. I would not know what it means to hope, pray and wish that the lives of my children far exceed my own life. I wouldn’t know the way it feels to breathe in another person, hug so tightly, cry so vulnerably and love so utterly uncontrollably.
Fantastic pictures, you guys are such a beautiful family and look so happy :)
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