I Am Their Comforter Because I Am Their Mother

I am their comforter.

Something happens when my babies turn two. For two years, my babes have eyes for me, but around their second birthdays, their gaze starts shifting toward Daddy.

They squeal when he comes home from work, they wrestle him, they cuddle him, they listen better when he disciplines. They adore him and, if I’m being honest, he’s likely their favorite.

Except in times like these. When it comes to holding them in hospital beds or soothing the simply stuffed up heads, their arms reach out for me they way they did when they were younger.

During a recent bout of house sickness my husband said to me, “You are their comforter.”

And he’s right. Daddy is more fun than Mommy. He loves and plays hard. They think he hung the moon and the stars. But I think they know it’s Mommy who keeps their worlds spinning. So, when it feels as if their planets are about to stop turning, they crawl back in my arms knowing I can somehow keep it going.

And it makes me realize this: all of it matters. The grape cutting, the diaper changing, the school drop-offs and pick ups, the boo-boo kisses, the dinners they mostly won’t eat, the dance parties, the nighttime stories, the lullabies. It all adds up. They feel secure every day because they know Mom will make life happen.

So, when I feel like I’m unseen, when I fear I’m not measuring up, I remember this: I am their comforter and there’s no other job I’d rather have.

Originally published on Jillian Benfield

 

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