I am doing better. It is always shocking to see myself in pictures, because somehow in my mind - despite daily mirror checks - I am still a size 12, have cheek bones, and a discernible waistline. Then I see the picture on the digital display and am like "whuck?" But I am trying anyway. I have not mastered the art of the selfie. I take them, but always end up looking like on of Spock's long lost descendants. (Though chronologically I would be one of his ancestors - who knows - maybe Spock's mom is one of my great great granddaughters...anyways...)
Though the theme of the "get the picture" was similar to what many other bloggers were posting around the same time - the moments we mommies are missing being included in, though we were there, because we are the behind the scenes operators, I have learned that "getting in the picture" is also about "getting" me.
Being a teenager is harder than it was when I was a teenager. I agree. And parenting a teenager is harder as well. But you know what has gotten really hard? Being a mom.
Being a mom used to mean that you got relegated to the ranks of frumpiness. That after you had birthed x amount of children in y amount of years, you were free to have a standard hair cut, elastic waist jeans, and a variety of t shirt and sweat shirts with cute animals on the front. You could be softer, with a poochy tummy, grey hairs, and lines at the corners of your eyes and lips. You smelled like baby powder and baking.
You also got to spend time indoors while the children sweated and sweltered outside, keeping a watchful eye on the children from a window while you "baked dinner" or "did chores" whilst you took lovely moments to breath deep and maintain your sanity. Children were free to roam the neighborhood within a given set of boundaries, and your mind could be at reasonable ease.
Now you must be MOM on steroids. You can no longer be soft, but must be fit and firm and wear the same clothes your teenage daughter does (because that is ever appropriate?) in a seductive and attractive manner that still allows you to breastfeed and maintain your standing at church. In heels.
You must hover over your children and be involved and stimulating and interesting to them - making sure they are using up every single spare second in some enriching either educationally or spiritually activity, otherwise they will never be able to measure up to Johnny-do-good down the street.
Don't raise your voice or spank. Be interested in everything they say and do. Respond with self esteem boosters that aren't generic.
What I see more than the grey hair, the extra 125 lbs, the forced smile, and the Spock eyebrow is such much worry and burden - how can I be that perfect mommy I am always falling short of being? Smash doesn't even know his colors yet! We are behind! Songbird questions everything from gender preference to God's existence - where have I failed?
Why do I not look fabulous? How can I let myself look like this? There are grey hairs, hairs on my chin - I am turning into the goat woman! 125 lbs overweight!!!! That is a whole person.
Whole person.
I am a whole person.
And Jesus loves me. That whole person. Not for the parent that I "should be" according to the "experts." Not for the way I "should" look. Not for the effort and strides I take at becoming that long list of "should" thrown out there by media, experts, and myself. But for who I am, this very moment, as I am. Jesus loves me.
And my kids love me too.
I am not going to loose anyone's love, or not be good enough to love, because Smash speaks in a variety of caveman grunts and points at the same age that his siblings spoke in sentences. Or because Starlet doesn't read entire books on her own yet. Or because Snickers still wets the bed sometimes. Or because they haven't been enrolled in any extra curricular activities in over a year, and I have liked not having to run around so much I may just keep it that way.
I am not going to loose anyone's love because I am pillow soft. I run with my children, dance with the dog, and go on walks holding hands with my husband. I can outwork any of them in an endurance test - except the dog, but that is rather unfair because he is supposed to work. Sort of like a Clydesdale horse. And if someone quits loving me because I more apple dumpling than apple bottom jeans, than that wasn't the love I deserve.
And you know what?
The same is true for every mother out there. Those burdens of not being the perfect mommy. Of falling short. Short tempered, short patience, short attention span (is that child still talking??) Of all the things you didn't do. Of all those things that make you feel that you aren't enough. That you aren't whole. Jesus wants you to forget those. To quit letting yourself think you are lesser because of them, and let His love fill those empty spots, until you are full. Be whole.
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