Waxing Philosophical (Sorry About That)

In defense of motherhood as a career...

These kids--these four sometimes sloppy, sometimes loud, sometimes chaotic kids--each came separately to me as tiny little bodies that could not speak or act for themselves. Yet each of them the day they were born exuded distinctive personalities. Those personalities jumped out at me, and I knew exactly what each of them would be like, as I held them immobile in my arms, before they even had a chance to demonstrate those personalities.

This one, for example, I knew was sparkly and energetic:


This one was slightly sad--as though this new loud world overwhelmed him after having resided previously in such a peaceful place--but he was also contemplative and tender-hearted:


This one was loving and affectionate (it wasn't until age 1 that he also exhibited one of his more dominating traits--stubborness):


This one was both feisty and sweet:


And each one has grown into those adjectives of their own accord. I didn't have anything to do with it. They are each their own individual. I don't feel as though they really belong to me, to do with them as I wish, to mold them as I see fit, but rather it is my obligation to make sure that they are given every opportunity to succeed in this world and the next.

When Laura was four and Lincoln was two, they came into our room one night, about 2:00 AM scared. They walked hand in hand in the darkness, and as I opened my eyes to see them, I was overwhelmed with a feeling-- undeniable--that it was the greatest priviledge of my life to have the opportunity to raise them. And to learn from them. That if I dilligently did so, the world would benefit from their being in it.

Not a bad job description, eh?