I Didn’t Have Kids to be Called a Good Mom

I didn’t have kids to be called a good mom.

Because this mom thing isn’t about me. It’s about them.

I didn’t have kids to earn a pat on the back. I didn’t have kids to congratulate myself on wiping butts and buying school supplies. I also didn’t have kids so I could hate myself for every mistake.

I chose mom status because life is a miracle. I wanted to share it. I wanted my kids to know love. I wanted them to taste strawberries, hear music and smell fresh rain.

I had kids to shine a light in this crazy beautiful world. I wanted to teach them right from wrong. I wanted to make them snort laugh. I wanted to show them the ocean and let them build castles in the sand.

Sometimes I catch myself feeling like I don’t measure up. I look at other moms who cook perfect meals, iron sheets and turn in every doctor form on time. I am not those moms. I am not a domestic wonder woman.

I look at moms who discipline with ease and keep a tight schedule. I am not those moms. I am still finding my stern voice.

I don’t care if society thinks I fall short. I am a work-in-progress mom, because I am a work-in-progress woman. I fail at mom things just like I do other things. I didn’t turn perfect when I gave birth. My kids know I sometimes mess up just like they do. 

My kids also know they are loved without measure. They know God made them to do amazing things, to be on the side of the good guys, to dance, laugh and learn from tough moments. My kids know the sound of  thunder. They know the feel of wet paint. They know to help a friend in need. They love to smell flowers and eat gooey chocolate. They love to read books and draw pictures.

My kids love going on adventures and coming home. 

I didn’t have kids to be called a good mom.

I had kids because I wanted to share the joy of life.

I had kids because I wanted to love them and I do, so much.