I was in a doctor’s appointment the other day answering a list of questions about our health and family. The list went on until finally the nurse asked me, “And are you employed?”
I answered quickly, “Nope. I’m just a mom.”
Just a mom. Those words didn’t feel quite right.
The nurse asked a few more questions, and we both went on with the rest of the appointment. She probably didn’t think a thing about it… but I did.
Just a mom?
Is there such a thing?
I handle precious cargo. I deal with fragile feelings and tiny hearts. I am responsible for two of the most precious things in this world. I should wear a cape.
I teach. I teach manners and morals. I teach love and forgiveness. I teach real. I teach how to say, “I’m sorry,” and how to behave so we don’t have to say we are sorry. I open eyes to realities of the world around us. Together, we explore. We investigate. We discover.
I am a counselor. I listen. I let them tell me the cares of their heart. I let them tell me what is on their mind. I help my children scale the treacherous steps of Emotion Mountain, and I hug… a lot. I calm fears. I shine light on shadows. My presence brings peace.
I love. I live, eat and breathe selfless love. From my first words of the day, to my last and every act in between… what they know of love they will learn at home. I use every opportunity.
I inspire. I whisper, “You can do it!” “Don’t give up!” “Momma’s so proud of you for trying!” I give them the tools to realize what they might enjoy and watch as they begin to discover on their own. I am a constant supplier of encouragement, and while there is still breath in my body, I will prompt, “Dream bigger, my child.”
I do second chances. I get it wrong. I say I’m sorry. I teach grace.
I am the official kisser of “ouchies.” I am the record keeper for bedtime stories. I am the personal assistant, the nurse, the nutritionist. I am the shoe-tier, sandwich crust-remover, booty-wiper. I am the worrier, the prayer, the stay-up-all-nighter, the give-it-all-to-Jesus-er.
I don’t get lunch breaks. I don’t get sick days. I am always on call.
I know the best hiding spots for hide-and-seek. I know how to build a Lego airplane squadron. I make fantastic make-believe tea, and I know exactly which blankets are “special.”
I may not ever receive an award or medal. I may not ever walk into a room full of a cheering audience. And while I might not ever hold another title, as long as my children call me “mommy” I have the highest paying position of all.
I am a mom, and there’s “just” nothing more important.
