Stories about hope

When my husband and I got married – wedding “ambiance” had become a new thing. Every wedding I had attended of late had videos, amazing music, beautiful wedding programs and fabulous surprises. So naturally I wanted that at my wedding. The flowers, the gown, the slideshow at the beginning, my wedding tennis shoes. These were all so important to me. 

A perfect “walk out song” was vital. All the cool weddings had a unique song. I needed to pick out an upbeat amazing song that would be celebratory of our first kiss, introduction as husband & wife and to get our wedding guests up and on their feet with celebration.

I picked Michael Bolton’s “Love is a wonderful thing” a perfect song for an early 90’s big gown, big haired wedding. 

That however was not the song that played. Somehow our wedding song “tape” was flipped and the first song on the “B” side was “My Three Son’s theme”. 

I remember hearing the song and the confused look on some wedding guest faces.  What in the world?  Who knew it was a “God wink” Who knew that our lives would be blessed by 3 sons. I was certain I was to be a girl mom. I’m so glad I was wrong.

As we adjusted into married life and my maternal clock started ticking faster, discussions were made about kids. I had wanted a big family; my husband wanted a small one. We decided we would have a “wait and see approach”. After all, we believed that God was the one who would ultimately make that decision for us. 

I was pregnant with our first child and we decided to skip the ultrasound that would tell us the gender of our baby. However, as time went by and our baby was slow to make an appearance, I went in for several tests to see what was going on. 

At one of the tests an ultrasound was performed. The tech stated there was very little amniotic fluid left. Then she said “He is upside-down” 

I didn’t catch the “upside-down” part. My ears heard “He” and I said “It’s a boy?”

She said, “Yes, a breach baby boy”.

“Wait, he’s breach?”

Off to our Doctor I went. Called my husband on the way and said “I have to have a c-section! Our son is breach, I have to have a c-section TOMORROW”. I started crying.

Having surgery was not in my birth plan. My mom was to be in my hospital room. My dear friends Julie & Sharon would pick her up from the convalescent home and bring her to the birthing suite. She would arrive at the perfect time and stay with me through labor and delivery. She had been a labor and delivery nurse. I wanted to have her there.  Sadly, plans changed and she couldn’t come to the operating room as the hospital only permitted one person. And my husband was the one who (although he hated anything and everything to do with hospitals, shots, surgery, blood) would be with me.

Our first son was an extremely challenging baby. He cried all the time, he had terrible colic and would be in incredible pain for hours on end. It was gut wrenching to watch him tighten up and his little tummy contract. The only thing that calmed him down was nursing and shortly after nursing the screaming started again. Neither one of us was able to sleep. He took 20-minute naps and then woke up in pain.  I took him to the pediatrician for help, it seemed I was there every few days.  The suggestions they made didn’t work at all. They couldn’t find anything wrong. He was gaining weight and seemed to be developing well. He was just a colicky baby and suggested it was my diet that affected him. I cut out almost every food group I could. I tried holding him for hours on end which did help, but the trend was to let babies cry it out and sleep train. I felt like a bad mom. I felt like a terrible mom. A tired, depressed, unsuccessful mom. It was a lonely place to be. 

Many Years later we discovered that he was lactose intolerant. I think he was in eighth grade when the lightbulb turned on. I brought him chocolate milk before he was to play in a baseball game and he promptly got violently ill.

Our second boy was a piece of cake baby. He was content, his tummy never bothered him. He slept and ate like a champ.

When our youngest son made a surprise appearance, he too had colic and screamed for hours. Nothing helped. I decided to stop nursing and started bottle feeding. On a family vacation, he was screaming on the way home from dinner and I was out of formula. We stopped at a grocery store and on a whim I decided to buy soy formula. The screaming stopped. My heart hurt that I had put my oldest through so much discomfort and that lactose was the problem. I wasn’t a failure, but it sure felt like that. 

Of course, as moms, it’s hard to feel we are successful every day. Especially when you don’t feel like you measure up. I’m so thankful that Instagram wasn’t around when I was raising my boys. I ache for the young moms that see “perfection” in the lens of an Instagram filter. I’m not a Martha Stewart mom, or a Pinterest mom. I’m a stained shirt, frazzled haired, play in the dirt kind of mom.

Dave Ramsey had a saying many years ago, “Don’t compare your behind the scenes footage to someone else’s highlight reel.” Oh man, truer words were never spoken but hard to remember when scrolling the “gram”.

We see the best in others. We don’t see reality. We need to support each other. And give each other grace. 

This frazzled, coffee stained t-shirt mom was given incredible grace by another mom. I will never forget it. 

Our second boy had arrived several weeks earlier, and I needed to go to Target. I gather my 2 boys, put on my best post maternity clothes that somewhat fit and headed out to shop.

We were doing ok until the older brother started getting frustrated that we were not getting him anything fun. It was a trip for “necessities” and maybe if all went well, he could pick out a new book.

All did not go well. 

I felt the eyes of the world on me (well not the world but every single person in Target) 

He was really mad at me. This little almost five-year-old terror was throwing a fit and I was trying to reason with him the best I could. 

“I’m sorry but children who behave this way do not receive a new book.” 

The screaming escalated – the fit was raging. He laid down in the aisle and had a full blown tantrum. I tried to pick him up and his body became a wet noodle.

I managed to pick him up and started to push the cart carrying his baby brother in his car seat and all our purchases to the check out area. I desperately needed the supplies or I would have abandoned the cart and left.

I managed to get through the check-out line. Holding by angry writhing son, and completing my purchase. My face was as red as his. I was desperately trying to keep my cool when inside I was horrified with embarrassment. I felt the eyes and the silent judgment, I felt shamed, I imagined what they were thinking. 

“She’s a terrible mom, look how her child is out of control, why doesn’t she do something” 

I tried to avoid eye contact – as we headed out the doors but then he grabs the two ant-theft devises and holds on. I’m trying to pry him off the bars while holding his baby brother’s car seat, so it doesn’t crash to the ground. I finally manage to get through the doors and am heading to the car – the screaming is down to a dull roar now. 

Out of the corner of my eye, I see her coming toward me. 

“Oh God please help me. Keep her away from me.” I was worried that I couldn’t hold my tongue when she starts condemning me.”

“Excuse me” she says, 

I ignore her as she closes the gap between us.

 “Excuse me” she says it too loudly for me to ignore this time.

 I whip my head around, jaw set, teeth clenched, eyes flashing, and I meet her face with mine. 

Expecting a tongue lashing for my horrible parenting skills, expecting judgement, she opens her mouth and out of it pours blessing.

“I just want you to know that you did a really good job in there. I’m amazed how you held yourself together. You’re a really good mom, I wanted to make sure you know that” 

I was speechless. I couldn’t believe my ears or the face of compassion looking back at me. 

I was prepared for a fight, and she gave me grace. I was expecting to be judged, she gave me compassion and more than that she restored me as a person. I think I was able to say “Thank you” as I put my boys in the car. When I got behind the wheel, the tears began to flow. “Thank you, God,” 

And then more words were spoken – this time from the almost 5-year-old terror himself through hiccups and sniffles:

 “Sorry mama”

 “It’s ok son, I love you”

 “I love you too mama” 

“Like apples of gold in settings of silver Is a word spoken in right circumstances.”

Proverbs 25:11

Speak life today.

Being a mom is an amazing gift. Not without challenges that’s for sure. Not without exhaustion from sleepless nights holding sick babies as they struggle with a respiratory issue. Or cleaning up a car seat and child covered in vomit. That’s not the amazing part. Except for the compassion you feel for them. Realizing what is a common theme for moms. We give up self. 

And then the chubby little five-year-old puts his hands on your cheeks and squeezes your face in his hands and says, “I love you mama.” Out of the blue and it makes all the challenges melt. 

My boys are grown men now. I can’t help but smile when I see their faces. My oldest is married and raising his own kids. The younger two are engaged to be married. 

I don’t think I am prepared to have an empty nest. But I keep reminding myself that this is my job. And as they have grown my love for them has grown even bigger than it was when they were so little.  

Saltwater tears flow down my cheeks as the memories flood in. 

You “expect” them, deliver them, raise them, pray for them, feed them, teach them what you have found to be true, trust God with them. Then they go and grow up to develop their own personality, their own faith, their own talents, and you pause and think “He has such big dreams, and his faith is bigger than mine ever was at that age, who is this young man?” And in your humblest of hearts, you say “Thank you God that this amazing guy is my son”