I am a mother

I read a blog post a while ago called "The stuff that makes me me". The post ended by asking "What stuff helps make you you?"

As I sat staring at the comment box I intended to comment in, I couldn't think of a thing and it made me cry. Granted, it had been an awful day. One of those grumpy, teary, lethargic days where you can't quite pinpoint the cause of your angst yet you're filled with it nonetheless....

Still- on any day. It can be a hard question. A who am I question. A what am I question- which lately has been a discouraging question.

I got up from the computer and started getting the kids prepped for bed.

Family prayers, Pick up your stuff, brush your teeth......

As I herded and scolded and held and hugged, my mind kept straying to the question that I thought I couldn't answer......

I couldn't think of things. All I could think of was them. What they had made of me. Instead of feelings of discouragement and emptiness I became full of joy and gratitude.

Almost 17 years ago I had my first child. A beautiful, dark-haired baby girl. Serious. Careful. Everything I dreamed of. She created me. Mother. Then 2 years later, another beautiful girl. Blond ringlets this time. Imagination seeping from her pores. She stretched the boundaries of who I was... Mother. The next year brought a difficult loss. For a little while I was a broken Mother. Two years later came a bouncing baby boy. Strong. Fierce. He brought back the joy and through him I began to learn the pain and frustration of Mother. Before him I had only known easy. Now it was hard. But you know... hard brings it's own joy. Then 2 more years. Another girl. Patient and sweet. A Calm amidst the storm. More stretching. You know the pattern now I think. 2 more years and another boy. The smallest. My climber. A giver of love. Snuggly. He made that last stretch so easy. They grew. I fed. I bathed. I taught. I loved.

Then came the time of no babies. I started to feel like a stretched out Mother with no elasticity left. It's hard to regain the shape of who you are when you have mothered so long and with so much of yourself. It's not as if I am done with Mother. I will always be. Yet they need you less in that all-consuming way. They need you more as a listening ear, an understanding heart, a taxi-driver, a compass. There is more time to think about who you are, what else you might be.

This is what makes the answer to the "what makes me me question" so elusive. Some of the things I used to think identified me are lost in the past, yet some remain; talents- overshadowed & dusty, others- vibrant and strong. And there are new ones I am figuring out.

As I type and think I begin to believe that it is pointless to try to regain the shape. The challenge is discovering the new shape, embracing the new shape. Rediscovery. I am deciding as I write that I like this thought so much better. It sounds like an adventure. I don't need Everest. I don't need K2. I will find my own summits.