Friday, April 5, 2013

Mama First

We all wear different hats. We have different roles we play throughout each day, each week. As the Glass City Marathon approaches, my role as a runner has seemed to be a hat that I am putting on more and more. It's taken a hunk of time, for sure. And I've been putting unnecessary pressure on myself to stick with the training plan and follow everything to a T.

I made plans Tuesday morning to meet a new friend and running buddy for a run at 5:30 am. The night before Millie woke several times as her nose was stuffy and snotty. Then finally, at 4:30 am when I tried to put her back in her crib once again she kept crying out to sleep in our bed. I knew my alarm was about to go off in a half an hour, which would wake her. And I HAD to get a run in, especially because I was meeting someone I didn't know very well to run together for the first time. I didn't want to punk-out right off the bat. But the answer was clear. So I texted my early morning running buddy in hopes she would see it before she headed out the door. Then I brought Millie to bed along with some serious resentment.

Faithful running buddy texts back: We're mommies first :o)

All of the sudden my resentment turned to praise. Lord, THANK YOU that I have the ability to comfort my child. (It took her a whole .2 seconds to fall asleep after her head rested on my chest) THANK YOU that I have a child to comfort. THANK YOU that I can lay here until I need to so my sleeping girl can rest.

Why do I need reminded of my motherhood? To be reminded that it's a gift and a privelage? How forgetful I am. Ungrateful even.

Later in the week I had plans to meet a dear friend for lunch. Our get togethers are few and far between so I was especially looking forward to it. She texted me the day before to cancel because her kids, who are now in high school, wanted to get lunch with her that very same day since they were on their spring break from school. I was able to reply, "You're a mother first. Totally get it. ENJOY them!"

And so the freedom of being a mother first was passed on.

I struggle with this every day. It's hard for me to choose playing trains and dolls over doing some very real to-do's. I'm often reminded of a poem I came across in a very timely manner when Asher was a baby. Here's an excerpt:

The cleaning and scrubbing will wait till tomorrow,
For children grow up, as I’ve learned to my sorrow.
So quiet down, cobwebs. Dust go to sleep.
I’m rocking my baby and babies don’t keep.

-Ruth Hulburt Hamilton