I have always wanted to be a mom. Of course, most little girls play house and carry baby dolls and if asked, would say that they want to be a mom someday. It's just something I've always wanted to be. I think that desire is normal for most girls. But what's funny is I don't remember ever playing house and actually thinking about what being a mom would require. I CERTAINLY don't remember thinking that being a mom would be so sacrificial and require so much dying-to-self. I suppose I'm realizing how grateful I am that my own mom never laid on a guilt trip or used manipulation to remind me how much she was giving up just by being my mom.
Today I had to be a sacrificial mom.
This morning at church, I was randomly given tickets to today's Reds game (thanks Dale & Jenny!) Excitedly, I scanned the church to find Daniel and share the good news. The service was about to start so I knew I didn't have much time. Finding him near the front, I asked him if there was anything pressing he needed to take care of right after church. He said no and I flashed him the tickets. A smile cracked his face and I knew this just made his day. After the worship set, we made plans for Isaiah & I to head home so Zay could nap. Daniel would meet up with us right after second service and we'd head to the game. We figured we could wake Zay from his nap a little early but he would be OK. I load Zay in his car seat, head home, feed him lunch and put him down for a nap. After listening to him chat and sing to himself for about 20 minutes he finally fell asleep. I glanced at the clock- 12:10. Daniel had said he'd try to be home by 12:30 and then we'd leave. That meant Zay would get a 20 minute nap. I'm sorry but you just don't wake a 1 year old up from a 20 minute nap and expect him to be fully refreshed and ready to go sit still at a baseball game for 3 hours. Sigh. I called Daniel. We agreed that yes, Isaiah should get to nap for longer than 20 minutes. I told Daniel he should find someone else to take to the game. sigh.
Now I realize that in a blog post about motherly sacrifice this example is small in comparison. I know there are mothers sacrificing far more significant and life giving things in order to give their children the best life possible. Please don't think me shallow for my example. Today this sacrifice feels hard to me. Daniel & I have always enjoyed going to Reds games, especially when the tickets are free :) I love seeing him get so excited about a game and a team he loves. I love getting to sit next to him and hear him talk about each player's stats. I learn something new at nearly every game we watch. I'm sacrificing this bonding time with my husband so that my son can get the rest and growth he needs.
I know I won't always have to make such sacrifices. I know that the sacrifices will change as my children grow and mature. But I also never realized how selfish I was until I became a mom. It is as though my eyes have suddenly been opened to all of these (now) painfully, glaringly obvious selfish crevices littered all throughout my heart. And I tell you it is not fun to have light thrown onto those ugly crevices. Because as soon as the light exposes the selfishness, I have to make an instant decision wether to put my own desire aside and serve my family's needs or choose myself and deal with the consequence. I guess what I'm saying is I don't have the luxury of time to draw the selfishness out of myself. I have to deal with it daily, as soon as it rears its ugly head and it can be exhausting!
There is one consolation to this sad, sacrificial mommy moment. Daniel is currently enjoying the game with his dad. If there is any other person in the world I would give up a Reds tickets for, it is my father-in-law. Daniel & Ken share many love languages, they are so alike. But baseball has been a common bond for them since the beginning of Daniel's life.
It's 1:45pm and Isaiah is just now chatting to himself as he wakes up from his nap. The game started 30 minutes ago. At least I have MLB TV & Marty Brennaman to keep me company.
No comments:
Post a Comment