The wait of motherhood.
We wait for them to arrive.
We wait for them to sleep through the night.
We wait for them to walk and to talk.
We wait for them to be brave.
We wait for them to make friends.
We wait for them to stand up for their friends.
We wait for them to stand up for themselves.
We wait for them to finish.
We wait for them to start.
We wait while they find what they need.
We wait at appointments.
We wait at tables.
We wait in cars.
We wait in lines.
We wait for the firsts.
We wait and hold our breath for the lasts.
We wait for them to try.
We wait for them to let go.
We wait for them to pick out their clothes.
We wait for them to get ready.
We wait for them to go to school.
We wait for them to get home from school.
We wait for them to do homework.
We wait for their grades.
We wait for the bus.
We wait for them to realize that completing homework is good.
We wait for them to text us that they’re ready to be picked up.
We wait for them to call.
We wait for them to realize that we’re on their side.
We wait as they decide what they want to do.
We wait as they pack up.
We wait as we wave good bye.
We went for them to grow up a bit.
We wait for them.
We wait for our hearts to loosen the grip.
And then, despite the waiting feeling like forever, there comes a day when we wait for them to come home again.
We wait, because our heart loves.
That is motherhood.
Jesus’s mother did a lot of waiting also. Pondering
So true. We are waiting all the time but wouldn’t want it any different. They are so wonderful.
Nothing compares to the joy of getting to be a Mom!
[…] was thankful for that. But the question is still nagging at me. ***** Earlier this morning, I read The Wait of Motherhood and it unraveled me. “We wait for them to come home again.” Except I don’t think […]
As I read this and reflected on how my mother would wait fir me ever single day. A few months ago she left us and now I wait for her knowing very well that day won’t come. But I still wait.
My youngest just turned 40; the other is 44… yet it seems like only yesterday they were babies. Where does the time go?
My son moved in with his day on his 18th birthday almost a year ago. So many days I have “waited” for the sound of his truck to pull back into the empty parking space reserved always for him. Even his faithful beagle “waited” for his return — sitting by the door or jumping on the couch to look out the window—waiting for “his” boy to return.
Time passes. No visits. But Momma and beagle will continue to “wait” for son’s return.
You are me