why I am a mother

I begin to hear squeals of glee coming from the other bedroom. That's my cue to get ready to go get the baby out of his crib . . . and to mentally prepare myself for the last run before either Daddy gets home or Kevin goes to bed. Kevin is excited to see me, not so excited that he has to stay on his back (a very confining position because you can't go anywhere) while I change his diaper. I decide to give Kevin some dinner. I made some brown rice for lunch and give him some of that with some baby food. I end up mixing sweet potatoes and beef with the rice. Yes, an odd combination, but he's had much stranger. I think he may end up being one of those people who loves strange combinations of food (maybe even green beans dipped in mayonnaise, eh, Ryan?). About three bites in, Kevin manages to grab the spoon without me expecting it, and a giant plop of pureed sweet potato lands on my khaki colored capris. Nice. And no, despite my best intentions, I never do get around to changing. Frustrated, I carefully stand up, hoping very hard that none of it gets on my awesome new white shirt. I return with a towel from the kitchen to wipe up most of the plop and leave the towel on my lap. I also grab another spoon so that Kevin can keep the one he swiped. Kevin tries to put his spoon in the bowl, but just as I start getting excited that he might be showing interest in figuring out the whole spoon-feeding thing, he decides to put the entire other hand in the bowl, wave it around in the air a bit, then lick his hand violently. I sigh, relieved that the bowl didn't get tipped over. Kevin continues to eat, and I put bits of rice on his high chair tray to keep him entertained while I continue to spoon-feed him. Occasionally Kevin tries to grab the towel, but at most feedings it's my pants instead, so I'm happy. (except that there's already a nice orange stain on my pants!) By this time I'm up to my elbows in orange baby food, but I'm used to that. He's done with all the food, so I pause to take a picture of the carnage, because this was a slightly-messier-than-usual feeding. The pictures just don't do it justice.

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By the time I put the camera down, Kevin has climbed from the high chair onto the table. I stare at him, wondering how I'm ever going to get him clean, and decide it will have to be done in the bathroom. His legs, arms, face, and clothes are covered in food. I carry him with my arms straight out in front of me to avoid too much contact before I take off his clothes and wipe him down, struggling the entire time to keep the plunger and toilet brush out of his reach. We go get a new outfit, and in the process of dressing him, I realize there's still a dried orange blob on one side of his nose. No, it's not worth washing off. By this time I'm already thoroughly frazzled, but I've still got to clean up the area around his high chair because he wants to eat everything he dropped on the floor, and I'm not keen on the idea of sweet potato and rice on his nice clean clothes. While I clean up, Kevin alternates between trying to get between my legs to the mess and playing with the dirty recycling box in the kitchen. I make an impromptu gate in the doorway to the kitchen using a chair laid on its side and try a few times to distract him with toys. Toys, of course, are never as fun as things you are not supposed to have. I decide it's high time the trash and recycling get taken out, so I put Kevin in the stroller and tie the garbage bags to the handles of the stroller. When we get back, the apartment is messier than I remembered. That's disappointing.

After I wrote all this, I thought, Based on this description of motherhood, it would make no sense to have kids. I guess that's one reason why a lot of people these days are opting to not have children. But there's a lot more to it than the messes and frustrations. For one thing, there are all the cute faces and sounds he makes, and there's his adorable lightning-fast army crawl that's so fun to watch, and there are all the sweet gestures he makes to indicate that he loves me and wants my attention and love. It's fun to watch him develop, learn, discover, and practice. I look forward to the things I will have the opportunity to teach him, and the tender moments when he shares his testimony with me.

But I think that one of the most significant reasons that I, and other Latter-Day Saints, have children, is that through modern revelation, we have seen a small glimpse of our amazing eternal potential. We realize that in the eternal scheme of things, our responsibilities as mothers do not cease. They increase, and so do the joys that come with it. Many of the things that we enjoy now will not last beyond this life, and even in this life they are not as rewarding as joys that have an eternal nature. But motherhood is rewarding now, and will continue to bring us joy throughout all eternity. So I try to think of motherhood on earth as a chance to practice, and I gain strength from remembering the eternal implications of what I am doing. I am raising a future missionary, a future husband, a future father, a future exalted being. And in the process, I would say that in some ways he is raising me, by teaching me patience, faith, how to manage my time and resources, and the true meaning of love and service. Motherhood is building my character, preparing me for the even greater responsibilities that I will one day have after I have returned to God, giving me opportunities to grow so that I will be the kind of person that is fit for the kingdom of God. That's something I have to try to remember when I'm washing off sweet potato hand prints.

And I think this entire story (all true) is hilarious. Someday, this blog is going to be printed in a photo book, and when Kevin brings his girlfriends home to meet his family, I think I might just leave the book on the coffee table, open to this page. I'm hoping that by that point he will have a clean face.