I remember when I was young I never wanted kids. Don’t get me wrong, I always loved children. I was the go to babysitter for several families in our church and not to toot my own horn or anything but I was a damn good sitter at that. Candyland for hours straight, playing cowboys, veggie tale sing a longs, laughing at silly jokes, pretending to be a superhero just so little 3 year old Luke Riley would brush his teeth… I loved every minute of it (even the moments of ‘Miss. Kristy, these brownies are burnt’ or ‘Miss. Kristy, those overalls don’t look good on you’ Well, thank you little Eden)
Still, I would tell my parents that I only wanted grandkids. None of my own. Truth be told, I was scared to death of being responsible for the proper up bringing of a child. I had terrible birth parents and I couldn’t help but think that when I was born, there was no way my real mom or dad said ‘aw look at our flaming red haired beauty! Can’t wait to screw her childhood up with our selfishness and self destruction!’
I like to believe that they had every intention of being good parents. It was just impossible for them to actually pull it off.
What if I am like that! Only grandkids for me. (How I was getting grandkids without having my own child….?)
Here I am now, two and a quater kids later. I am not perfect. The kids of many days of constant television, crappy food and unbrushed teeth throughout the year. But I am no longer worried that I inherited my parents ‘steller’ parenting genes…
I came to bed tonight to find a little munchkin (Grace) curled up in my bed fast asleep. Looking at her drooling on Greg’s pillow, my heart could just break thinking about how much I love that beautiful little girl. It is the tender moments like this or when Lilly curls up on my lap to whisper in my ear ‘you’re the best mom ever’ or even when I’m watching this new mini life inside of me bouncing around on the ultrasound screen, that I know. There is a love for these children way beyond anything my birth parents were ever capable of feeling. A feeling of selflessness (though not complete, I still have my many moments) that only the love of a child can produce.
I secretly feel like I defeated something upon entering into and progressing into mother. Be it extreme maternal insecurities, generations of familial patterns of self destruction/selfishness… whatever it was, I am free from the burden.
Bring on the babies! Just kidding, this third one is our last. No really.
**Disclaimer: I wrote this blog from my phone in bed. No proof reading. Hope it wasn’t too bad**
Tags: family, insecurities, love, motherhood
