Born to be...

I've been thinking lots lately about this being our final baby. We know we are happy with three of our own, and I know I don't want to be pregnant a fourth time... but I don't feel like my family is complete. Not really, I feel like God's going to be sending more... sooner or later. Little ones with lighter or darker skin, with someone else's eyes and genes... but there will be more.

And I wonder if I really am crazy.

You see, I always felt that I was born to be a mom. Whenever people asked me what I wanted to do, I came up with something more impressive. Usually acting or writing or nanny-ing... I told my best friend once when I was 12 that I just wanted to be a mom. He said I was crazy. (He didn't want kids) Maybe I am, but it's what I wanted, from about my tenth or eleventh year. I read my first parenting book when I was eleven, and I planned lists of what I would and wouldn't do with my children... I know most little girls did the "name game" when they were six and seven, like me... imagining what I would name them. My favorites were twins. I wanted at least two sets, and used to come up with the "best" names for them... Stephen and Stephanie, Eric and Erica, yes, I was exactly that lame.

Not much has changed, I'm still lame. And I'm still dreaming of my family getting bigger. Not just through Asher, but also fostering. I feel like this is my calling: kids, chaos, learning and teaching... I feel like God designed me and raised me for it. Like he sent me a husband just outside the box enough to go along with it, one who needs the challenge and finds that he unexpectedly loves the experience. But whenever I try to express this, I feel my own niggling doubts. I hear myself starting to say that it's who I'm meant to be, and it sounds pretentious. It sounds downright arrogant even! I shy away from owning this life calling, motherhood and nurturing, because to speak it out loud gives the impression that I am somehow amazing at it. Or that I think I am.

I have no illusions. I'm not.

I can barely have my counters wiped and all the dishes done each 24 - 48 hours.
I routinely forget to do laundry for over a week and then have to play catch-up and inevitably re-wash the load that I've left mildewing in the machine for the second or third time.
I vacuum once a week, except when I don't.
My kids usually get lots of fresh veggies and balanced meals, but sometimes it's McDonalds, or chicken nuggets from the oven with micro-waved frozen peas.
I haven't baked a loaf of bread in two months.
The other day I screamed over Micah when he was blasting my eardrums, shocking him into silence, then proceeded to close him in the guest room with some toys that he ignored, so I could have two minutes to finish my tutoring assessment.

So why motherhood?

My cousin recently shared a writer's perspective on trying to write in the midst of the chaos of life and motherhood. She did it because she had to, because if she didn't, it would always be there, straining to burst out of her. One of my best friends is a writer, and she's shared that sentiment with me in various ways, again and again through the years of waiting, of disappointment, of rewrites and criticism and tearing it apart over and over again. No matter how she wanted to stop, she couldn't.

I'm not that kind of a writer, but I think I am that kind of a mother. I know in my heart that I have love, and yes, even skills, that other kids need. That God can and will use. Could he use them in other ways? probably. I'm tutoring right now, and I know I'm making a difference in the lives of these boys. I know I have in the past and will again affect children for good, even if they never enter my home. I want to counsel someday, when I'm a little older. That will be good too, I think.

But fostering... I can't shake it. Can't get it out of my head. It's what I feel will burst from me if I don't work toward it. Even just baby steps, knowing I'm on my way, gives me a sense of calm. Thinking about how long I've waited and how much longer the waitlist is stirs quiet desperation that I need to just pray away. I will do this, I have to.

I wonder about my little ones, will they feel cheated? The answer is probably yes. But as I look back at my own childhood and see how living in a busy foster home shaped me, the good and the bad, I want that for my kids. I'll do my best to avoid the bad, of course, but that's never entirely possible, no matter who you are or what kind of home you run. There will always be bad, reasons for resentment and hurts that your babies will hold onto as they grow up. All parents are human, thus bound to make mistakes. I don't know if it will be 'worse' because of the path I choose, but I think, what if that bad is for a really good cause? Might that elevate it a little?

I'm born to be a mom. Not a "great" mom, not one who has it all together, or takes everything in stride and comes out on the other side with her hair intact and her kids perfectly dressed as they all play with homemade playdough after baking cookies and completing a Pinterest project. But I'm born to have these babies, and to hold more and love more, and maybe straighten out some twists and untie some knots in the lives of a few little ones who come and go before I see any results. I'm born to deal with extreme behaviors, be spat on without flinching and ignore pinches and slaps while I look at the bigger issue. I can do that. Most of it will wait till my kids are older and won't be as affected, but I can do it. I was born to do it, and with God's help I will. Someday.