On the first island we lived on I was called Ibu Michael (basically Mrs. Michael). Here I am called Mama G— Only sometimes am I called Ibu Amy. The other day I realized that I didn’t really mind the “loss of identity”. I don’t mind being someone’s wife and mother.
I read this in The Mission of Motherhood by Sally Clarkson
“Recently, while getting a haircut, I began talking to a young mom about her children. I was taken aback by the resentment in her voice when she described her relationship with her children….”I was my father’s daughter, my husband’s wife, and now my children’s mother. I’m sick of people owning my life. I’m ready for my own time and my own life. I tell my daughter all of the time that I’m tired of taking care of her and she is an awful child…I have no desire to judge that obviously unhappy mother. Who knows what kind of pressures and pain in her life led her to such harsh pronouncements about her children? But I have often wondered what scars her resentment will leave on her children. How could they help but feel unloved and unwanted…The truth that this mother had yet to accept is that children, by definition, take up our time. They’re supposed to do that; it’s the way God made them…I made a decision in my heart years ago, as I began to understand this principle, that God did not want me to resent my children for taking up my time. Neither did he want me to make them feel guilty for the sacrifices I had made on their behalf. I was called to give up my rights simply out of my love for Jesus. If I had struggles and complaints over the years for these issues in my own life, they have been between me and the Lord, not between me and my children.”
I’ve been realizing that even though I would never say such harsh things as the mother above, often my attitude can portray a reluctance to give my time and myself to my kids. I know more times than I like to admit, I’ve distinctly conveyed to the boys that they make life hard on me, that their demands are annoying, or that they are a bother. What a good reminder that my feelings are not my boy’s fault. My attitudes are between me and the Lord.
So today I cradled my crying boy, enjoyed that he still fits into my arms (because his brother almost doesn’t anymore), felt his head snuggle into my heart, and inhaled the scent of his sweaty hair. I could have got right back up and completed all of the projects tugging at my mind…but I didn’t.
**the pictures are from a mother’s day trip to the beach; it was blissfully other people free…and that was the best mother’s day present ever.