The Day My Heart Learned to Live Outside My Body
Thirty-one years!
That's 31 years of being so in tune with nighttime that I can hear when something is wrong before anyone ever calls my name.
31 years of pieces of my heart walking around outside of me.
31 years of listening for coughs in the middle of the night, checking foreheads, wiping tears, cleaning up messes, kissing boo-boos, and somehow knowing when "I'm fine" absolutely did not mean fine.
31 years of wondering if they're warm enough, eating enough, sleeping enough, making good choices, driving safely, being treated well, and remembering everything I tried so hard to teach them.
31 years of praying prayers over sleeping babies...and then learning that you don't stop praying those prayers just because the babies grow up.
They grow up. But you never really stop being their mom. The things you worry about change, and the conversations get deeper. You go from wondering if they're going to fall off the playground equipment to wondering if life itself is going to hurt them.
You go from fixing scraped knees to realizing there are wounds you can't put a Band-Aid on. You go from being able to scoop them into your arms and make almost everything better...to standing nearby while they make decisions, learn lessons, build lives, experience heartbreak, and become their own people.
And, as a momma, I think that's one of the hardest parts.
There comes a point when motherhood becomes less about doing everything for them and more about learning when to speak, when to be quiet, when to help, when to let them figure it out, and when to simply pray.
And goodness...the praying!
31 years of, "Lord, keep them." Keep them when I can't see them, protect them when I can't get to them, speak to them when they won't listen to me, comfort them in places I can't reach, guide them when I don't even know what to tell them.
Remind them who they are when the world tries to tell them something different!
Thirty-one years has taught me that motherhood is somehow the most beautiful combination of holding on and letting go.
You spend the first years teaching them to walk away from you...
Take the step.
Go to school.
Try the thing.
Drive the car.
Get the job.
Build the life.
And all the while, there's this little part of your heart whispering, "But don't go too far".
There have been 31 years of firsts.
First smiles.
First words.
First steps.
First days of school.
First heartbreaks.
First jobs.
First drives away from home.
But there have also been lasts that I didn't realize were lasts when they happened.
The last time someone needed to be carried to bed.
The last little hand that automatically reached for mine (even though a few of my girls still like to hold my hand while we're walking).
The last bedtime story.
The last time one of them crawled onto my lap because, at that moment, Mom was all they needed. (And three of my daughters still sit on my lap and cuddle with me).
Nobody really warns you about those.
You don't always know you're standing inside a memory while it's happening. And if I could go back and whisper something into the ear of that young mom 31 years ago, I think I'd tell her to "Pay attention. But not because you'll do everything perfectly....because you won't. And not because every day will feel precious...because they won't. Some days you'll be exhausted, frustrated, overwhelmed, touched-out, worried, and wondering whether you are getting any of it right. But PAY ATTENTION ANYWAY. Because the years that sometimes feel impossibly long while you're living them become unbelievably short when you look backward."
Thirty-one years!
There's been laughter so hard we couldn't breathe.
There have been slammed doors and apologies.
There have been victories I wanted to shout from the rooftops and heartaches I would have gladly taken upon myself if I could have.
There have been moments when motherhood filled my heart so completely I thought it might burst...and moments when loving this deeply hurt more than I knew a human heart could hurt.
Because that's the bargain nobody tells you you're making when they place that first baby in your arms.
You agree to love another human being so fiercely that their joy becomes your joy...
and their pain can become your pain too.
You become vulnerable in an entirely new way.
And still...
I would choose it again.
Every sleepless night.
Every worry.
Every tear.
Every prayer.
Every season.
Every single version of them.....and every version of me that motherhood created along the way.
Because my children didn't just grow up during these 31 years.
I grew up too.
Motherhood has stretched me, humbled me, softened me, scared me, strengthened me, broken pieces of me, and rebuilt pieces of me.
It's taught me how enormous love can be. It's taught me that I can be strong and terrified at the same time. It's taught me that sometimes love means holding tightly, and sometimes love means opening your hand. And it's taught me, more than almost anything else in my life, how desperately I need God.
Tomorrow marks 31 years since someone first made me "Mom." My sweet girl, Brittni Shae. And I don't know exactly where all those years went.
I just know that somewhere between that first tiny baby and today, motherhood became woven into every fiber of who I am.
Thirty-one years of loving.
Thirty-one years of learning.
Thirty-one years of worrying.
Thirty-one years of laughing.
Thirty-one years of crying.
Thirty-one years of praying.
Thirty-one years of watching pieces of my heart become people with stories, personalities, dreams, struggles, victories, and lives of their own.
And after all this time, one thing hasn't changed.
Whether they're 3, 13, 23, or 31...when you're their mom, some part of you will always hear them in the middle of the night. ❤️
You go from fixing scraped knees to realizing there are wounds you can't put a Band-Aid on. You go from being able to scoop them into your arms and make almost everything better...to standing nearby while they make decisions, learn lessons, build lives, experience heartbreak, and become their own people.
And, as a momma, I think that's one of the hardest parts.
There comes a point when motherhood becomes less about doing everything for them and more about learning when to speak, when to be quiet, when to help, when to let them figure it out, and when to simply pray.
And goodness...the praying!
31 years of, "Lord, keep them." Keep them when I can't see them, protect them when I can't get to them, speak to them when they won't listen to me, comfort them in places I can't reach, guide them when I don't even know what to tell them.
Remind them who they are when the world tries to tell them something different!
Thirty-one years has taught me that motherhood is somehow the most beautiful combination of holding on and letting go.
You spend the first years teaching them to walk away from you...
Take the step.
Go to school.
Try the thing.
Drive the car.
Get the job.
Build the life.
And all the while, there's this little part of your heart whispering, "But don't go too far".
There have been 31 years of firsts.
First smiles.
First words.
First steps.
First days of school.
First heartbreaks.
First jobs.
First drives away from home.
But there have also been lasts that I didn't realize were lasts when they happened.
The last time someone needed to be carried to bed.
The last little hand that automatically reached for mine (even though a few of my girls still like to hold my hand while we're walking).
The last bedtime story.
The last time one of them crawled onto my lap because, at that moment, Mom was all they needed. (And three of my daughters still sit on my lap and cuddle with me).
Nobody really warns you about those.
You don't always know you're standing inside a memory while it's happening. And if I could go back and whisper something into the ear of that young mom 31 years ago, I think I'd tell her to "Pay attention. But not because you'll do everything perfectly....because you won't. And not because every day will feel precious...because they won't. Some days you'll be exhausted, frustrated, overwhelmed, touched-out, worried, and wondering whether you are getting any of it right. But PAY ATTENTION ANYWAY. Because the years that sometimes feel impossibly long while you're living them become unbelievably short when you look backward."
Thirty-one years!
There's been laughter so hard we couldn't breathe.
There have been slammed doors and apologies.
There have been victories I wanted to shout from the rooftops and heartaches I would have gladly taken upon myself if I could have.
There have been moments when motherhood filled my heart so completely I thought it might burst...and moments when loving this deeply hurt more than I knew a human heart could hurt.
Because that's the bargain nobody tells you you're making when they place that first baby in your arms.
You agree to love another human being so fiercely that their joy becomes your joy...
and their pain can become your pain too.
You become vulnerable in an entirely new way.
And still...
I would choose it again.
Every sleepless night.
Every worry.
Every tear.
Every prayer.
Every season.
Every single version of them.....and every version of me that motherhood created along the way.
Because my children didn't just grow up during these 31 years.
I grew up too.
Motherhood has stretched me, humbled me, softened me, scared me, strengthened me, broken pieces of me, and rebuilt pieces of me.
It's taught me how enormous love can be. It's taught me that I can be strong and terrified at the same time. It's taught me that sometimes love means holding tightly, and sometimes love means opening your hand. And it's taught me, more than almost anything else in my life, how desperately I need God.
Tomorrow marks 31 years since someone first made me "Mom." My sweet girl, Brittni Shae. And I don't know exactly where all those years went.
I just know that somewhere between that first tiny baby and today, motherhood became woven into every fiber of who I am.
Thirty-one years of loving.
Thirty-one years of learning.
Thirty-one years of worrying.
Thirty-one years of laughing.
Thirty-one years of crying.
Thirty-one years of praying.
Thirty-one years of watching pieces of my heart become people with stories, personalities, dreams, struggles, victories, and lives of their own.
And after all this time, one thing hasn't changed.
Whether they're 3, 13, 23, or 31...when you're their mom, some part of you will always hear them in the middle of the night. ❤️
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