The Making of M.O.M.

I scoop her up off the floor, plop down into my favorite nursing chair, raise my shirt and offer her some milk. She latches, but as she does she extends her arm until her pudgy, dimpled, dainty elbow reaches a locked position.

This is how we nurse. We've nursed this way all 12.5 months of her life. I cradle her, smooth her hair, gaze at her eyelashes and smile. She looks at the ceiling then rolls her eyes as far as possible to see what is behind her, without unlatching.

She tolerates me. With my other babies there were tender nursing moments. Times when they would nurse, grin while milk streamed from the corners of their mouthes, unlatch and offer me a huge grin, only to spray milk all over the both of us.

But Evelyn is not that baby. She loves me, and wants me sometimes, but mostly I'm a source of nourishment for her. It's her Daddy who is her ultimate soother. She adores him more than any of our other children have at this young age. Normally it's Mommy and Mommy alone while they're breastfeeding. But not her.

She drinks until she's had her fill, then she unlatches with a smack, rolls away from me, requesting with her whole body to be released from my arms. She's done with me and I've come to terms with the fact that I am the one who is fond of the nursing, not her. I've finally realized it's not personal. She grins and me and smiles when we play together. She giggles at my over-exaggerated laughs. But if the choice is me or Daddy, Daddy wins every time.

Evelyn, 9.5 months, tolerating my affection.

Tonight, as the house was still, and I rocked her while she nursed, He washed Himself over me in a way that used to be familiar and regular.

"This is us," he whispered. "You use me solely for life-sustaining nourishment right now. There is no intimacy between us. You wait until you cannot wait any longer, have your fill of me, then you make it clear you're ready to have your space."

I recoiled in the truth that He showed me.

I've been angry. Hurt. I've felt neglected and robbed. I've wanted to walk away, and I probably would have, for not the consistent and fervent prayers of my husband and dearest friends. And now, I'm in a place where I'm no longer wanting or struggling to break free from this faith that has gripped me so tightly. I'm fine with it. It's here, it's who I am. It's a part of me.

I wait until I can wait no more, fling myself before the cross, fill myself with just enough to get me through the next trial, the next thing and then I'm done with him for a while.

In the simile that is my nursing relationship, I am Evelyn and He is me.

He longs for the intimacy that should exist, the affection and the joy upon my face as we embrace and delight in one another. And oh how He has never stopped delighting in me. He makes that clear when I draw near. He loves me as much as He ever has, increasingly as the days pass. As my love grows for my almost-walking babe, does His love for me.

My embraces with him have been distant. My (not as cute as Evelyn's) pudgy, dimpled elbows lock into place when He comes near because keeping Him at arms length is just easier. At arms length it can't hurt as much. At arms length I cannot hear His whispers clearly. At arms length, my perception is that if He should forget me again, then I can catch myself before I fall.

But the truth is, I was never forgotten. As much as my heart, and my enemy, wants be to believe the lie that I have been cast aside, He could not forget me. I know this is true because I could not forget my precious, independent, ever looking-for-a-distraction-while nursing, baby girl.

"Can a woman forget her nursing child,
that she should have no compassion on the son of her womb?
Even these may forget,
yet I will not forget you.

Isaiah 49:15
Oh this love He has for me is relentless. He is showing me, as I pursue all but Him, that He is here. Offering the nourishment and sustenance I need for life, a rich life, right in his very arms. He hasn't quit offering it, though I have pushed it away, kept it at arms length and, sometimes, refused it all together even though it was exactly what I needed at that very moment.

This Jesus of mine, He cares for me. He keeps me in his tender grasp, and even lowers me gently as I thrash to get on my own two feet. How could I ever believe He would forsake me?

My girl, she's rewriting my knowledge as a mother, expanding on it day by day. Eight kids into this gig and He's still using these tiny (and not-so-tiny) people to show me that He sees me as I see them. Full of life, hope, love, joy and rich in mercy. This love He has that I am so thankful never ceases. Just like my love for the most independent 12 month old I've ever met. He takes me, defiance and all, embraces me, welcomes me back time and time and time again until one day, the arms relax, the eyes lift and meet his and a smile creeps across my face. And joy is found when the struggling ceases.

A rare, tender, arm-not-locked moment.
Perhaps my most favorite photo of all time.

(Photo credit: Light of Mine Photography)

I would like to thank you all for coming today. Honestly, I'd say that I'm shocked and in awe that you'd come all this way to award me with such a title, but I'm not surprised.

I mean, it's not every day that you happen upon a woman like me. The things you say about me are, indeed, true. I am so deserving of this title that when the awards committee called me, I laughed a little and then wondered what had taken so long.

Yes, it would be me who had to tell her 2 year old, again, not to lick the toilet. Ever. Even if you think it's chocolate.

It would also be me who allowed her almost 9 month old baby to play with an electrical adapter. It was unplugged. But you know, the principle of the matter is that I would have never let my first born baby play with cords of that nature. But alas, I just looked at her content self and continued texting my BFF.

I have earned this award on so many levels, but the thing that is the clincher for me, I think, is my attention to ~~detail~~ sarcasm. When my pre-teen stormed out of the room in an emotional rage it may or may not have been me who mumbled under my breath, "If you'd have stayed 8 years old like I told you this wouldn't be an issue." I may have also told her she is, in fact, bossy and to stop acting surprised when people assign her that title.

I am also going to confess that I earned this title fully when I went to turn on the sound machine in my 4 year old's room and, upon discovering her used pull up laying on her dresser, pinched it by the edge, carried it across the house and slung it in her general direction. I believe that life is best learned in a state of surprise, so I also felt it necessary to call her name as the urine laden disposable underpants were hurling at her head.

Think fast and stop peeing the bed. It's like my catch phrase. And by catch phrase I mean, seriously, catch!

You also should know that this isn't an award I will take flippantly. Oh no. I will wear this title as a crown upon my head and, in honor of it, I will continue to tell my children who are STARRRRRVVVIIIIINGGGGG and asking every food related question in their vocabulary at 5:45pm as I am frantically finishing up dinner that our meal will consist of "food and food with a side of food." Delicious sounding, isn't it? I know it's important to encourage proper nutrition and because of that when they ask what kind of food, I will reply with a bright, warm smile, "the kind you eat."

Modeling behaviors you wish to see in your children is oh-so-very important and I take this title you have given me so seriously, that I will always endeavor to show my children that YELLING AT THE TOP OF YOUR LUNGS FROM 24 INCHES FROM MY FACE IS ALWAYS A DELIGHT EVEN IF YOU'RE TELLING ME THAT YOU'VE FINISHED ALL YOUR SCHOOL WORK AND CLEANED YOUR ROOM AND NOW YOU'D LIKE TO HELP ME WASH ALL THE DISHES AND FOLD THE CLOTHES.

Hard work ethic and ear buds have helped me push through those training sessions.

I know that many of you wonder how I juggle it all, especially the baby and the 2 year old. Naturally, the 2 year old is eager for my attention and I try so very hard to show her that she is just as special and loved as her baby sister, even though the baby needs my attention more frequently for nursing sessions.

Of course, since this seemed to be a battle ground, I offered for my darling two year old to have a taste of Mommy's milk and told her that she too, when she was younger, drank my milk. She seemed eager at the idea and so I gently unlatched the baby as my elated 2 year old leaned in. I prepared myself that it might not end well since the 2 year old now has a mouth full of teeth and hasn't suckled in a very long time. As she neared me I squeezed once, quite firmly, and 2 steady streams of milk shot forth. One landed directly into her mouth and the other into her eye.

As she shrieked and thrashed on the floor I excused myself to empty my bladder in a more suitable place than the glider rocker in the nursery.

Since I believe that every moment has potential to be a teachable one, I also reminded her that there's no use crying over spilled, or mis-directed milk.

So you see, it is with grace and meekness and a quiet, humble spirit that I accept this awarded title that the committee has chosen me for this year. I've never been one to boast in an award in such a way and I hope my acceptance speech has demonstrated exactly why I feel that I am 110% the obvious candidate for the title of

Okayest Mom of the Year.

If you would like to schedule a mentoring session, please be sure to stop by my house. Our door bell is broken, but please do not hesitate to send in the panty-clad toddler, who is in the driveway, eating an uncooked, frozen pizza, in to look for me.

Thank you all. Have a wonderful evening.