While I Was Raising Her, the Lord Was Raising Me

I should remember the doctor’s name, but I don’t. It was such an ordeal. 18 hours of labor sort of blurs the particulars. But. I will never forget the moment they handed me a baby. My baby. Time stopped.

That moment they placed a wailing, elfin, newborn with blueberry eyes in my arms- well, nothing prepared me for me that. For her. No book. No class. No degree. I was undone.

Just like that, they handed me a swaddled, screaming human and pronounced me a parent. Her eyes mirrored the uncertainty in mine. And with one signature swearing never to shake her, she was released to our care. Forever.

Because that is how long I would love her.

I was swaying the first time I heard it. Sleep-deprived. Over-caffeinated. Sore. I was at the back of my moms group (MOPs) swaying with my screamy, dreamy newborn, securing her pacifier with my left hand and patting her bum with my right. You know the rhythm. Then, the veteran mom speaker sagely confided these words: “The days are long, but the years are short. Eighteen summers will be gone before you blink.”

Well, I blinked.

My firstborn baby is 18. The photos are proof of the years, blown by like a whispered breeze. And I still sway, a silent tribute to those longer days.

Now, I have an “adult” child.

But as I gaze into her 18-year-old blueberry eyes, I see reflected the adult she has raised in me.

Becoming a mom at 26, I was empirically qualified to parent: Employed, pedigreed, and mortgaged. I even cleaned my baseboards. Regularly. Adulting at its sexiest.

Yet, there is something utterly overwhelming about being entrusted with a tiny soul, which dwarfs the relevance of a 401(k). And thank God for that. Becoming a mom revealed what was lacking in me. And it was not pretty. I was more vain, more selfish, and more impatient than I ever knew.

And by God’s grace, parenting has made me a little bit less of a wretch. You see, kids are beautiful, dastardly foils that unveil our true selves when we are not looking. This is for the best.

Because while I was raising my daughter, the Lord was raising me.

Eighteen years ago this April, I presumed I would shape my daughter into an adult. The plot twist I never expected was that she had helped mold me more into one too.

“Behold, children are a gift from the Lord.” – Psalm 127: 3

Originally published on Charleston Moms