On being a mother

I hope I don't step on any toes with this BLOG. I was thinking tonight about several young ladies I know, both from church and other areas of my life, who are about to become mothers. Some are second- or third-time mothers, others will become mothers for the first time later this year.

My own mother was what is now called a "stay-at-home" mom. When I was growing up that was the norm. She, however, had to join the legions of working women in the early 60s. She worked part-time as a sales person at Gimbel's Department Store in Philadelphia, and hated every minute of it. I know what Proverbs says about working women, but neither she nor I ever felt that God wanted us selling or working outside the home.

You can't imagine how awful I felt when I, who always envisioned motherhood as being at home for my children, was forced because of our finances to go to work. My baby was just two months old. When I left him that first morning when I left for work, it was horrible. I cried on the bus the entire way to the office, and then I sniffled most of the day. When I got home, my son wouldn't even look at me. Every time I tried to get him to look at me, he'd turn his head away. I could tell he was upset that I hadn't been with him all day long.

I left my child with my mother. I cannot imagine leaving a child with a stranger, or in a center with 30 or 40 other children running around. My mom took care of Phil for 9 months and then had a heart attack and could no longer take care of him. I quit work. Alan was mustered into the Army and we had very few expenses, so we were able to muddle through.

I am so thankful that my own daughters and my daughter-in-law are able to be "stay-at-home" moms and can nurture their children all day long.

What I forget to mention is that I would leave my baby early in the morning around 7:30 -- just after he woke up -- I cleaned him, dressed him, and fed him, then kissed him good-by. When I got home at 5:30 it was time for his dinner. The only time I had to spend with him -- because I believed in schedules, and his schedule meant he was in bed by 7:30 p.m. -- was those two hours into which I fed him his dinner, if I could get him to look at me, and then gave him his dreaded bath, and after that screaming event, dressed him for bed. Sang to him, prayed with him, and patted his little bottom until he was asleep.

It was a hard time. I did a lot of crying. When Alan got into the Army all that changed and I was able to spend 24/7 with my baby, who was my little boy, and then with his sisters. When my youngest was two I was back in the work force, hating every minute of it, realizing that I was working to help keep us fed and clothed and sheltered didn't help my feelings about being out of the home.

So you know, my husband always thought I enjoyed working. He never knew how much I disliked being a part-time mother, a less-than-part-time home maker, and a full-time whatever (I had several jobs from teaching to selling).

God was my strength. I know I couldn't have done what I did when my children were growing up without His mercy and grace.