11 May Motherhood: A True Story

This is a true story about what it’s really like to be a mom.

Once upon a time, I learned that if a 12 year-old boy who usually eats more than his other three siblings combined, tells you he “isn’t really all that hungry” at dinner, he is about to puke for the next eight hours.

All the moms know that stomach bugs are the super most bestest!

Here’s what you do when your preteen boy is sick: You sit on the bathroom floor and promise him he isn’t going to die. When he moans, “Why is God doing this to me???“, you tell him there is no “why” for this. And you are very, very, very sorry. And you love him. Also, please don’t miss the toilet next time, Sweetie.

Then you try not to cry too much in front of him.

You think about his future wife, who will do this dark-of-night nursing for him one day. You know she will be basically Snow White, Pollyanna, and Katniss all rolled into one person. You love her so much already.

Here’s what you do not do: You don’t say you wish it were you lying on the cold tile sweating in between episodes. Because even though you’re a mom and you would do anything for him, moms can’t get sick like that because the whole world seems to orbit around your ability to stand up straight and make pancakes.

I don’t think I realized that surviving stomach bugs is such a learned skill before that night. I had to teach him everything: when to brush his teeth, at what point you realize drinking water is making it worse, and how to get a pillow and then endure the agony right there on the bathroom floor.

By the way, of course we had been talking about the story of Job right before he got sick. This was good, because I was well-primed on how not to be like Job’s friends, how Job had it so much worse than we have it, and how suffering has a purpose even though it seems purposeless.

Then at about 1:00 am, like a good Jesus-person, I started blaming the devil for everything. I think this is how Christians become superstitious. (Don’t talk about Job! That’s like asking for trouble!! Things will get worse!) I didn’t want to be superstitious, but just in case, I stopped with the Job topic in my head, and upped my warfare prayers a notch spiritually.

I spent the next day analyzing the state of my own stomach. (Was I hungry, or about to hurl? Should I eat crackers all day just in case?) I disinfected all the toilets and washed all the bedding and towels, so as to fabricate hope. I would have bleached the porch if it could have made me feel less powerless against a possible viral onslaught. My other kids were unusually obedient and helpful and very nice to me, because I’m made of fragile porcelain. (Just kidding. That is impossible crazy talk. They made me bonkers all day long.)

If you opened up my soul after the all-night vomit fest, it would have looked like this:

The moral of this tale is that Motherhood is extremely easy and fun.

To all of you who have been in the trenches for the past year or thirty with the next generation of amazing humans, to those of you who have been nurturing them and cleaning up their messes, I salute you. I hope the people you have mothered offer you at least a taste of all the gratitude God has for all the ways you’ve blessed him by loving others well. You are doing such an amazing job.

Happy Mother’s Day, my friends. May you rest comfortably in your own bed instead of on the bathroom floor, and may your weekend be beautifully stomach-bug-free.

With much love,

Carrie