How Mothers are Made
In recent weeks there has been renewed conversation about Roe v. Wade and the implications of overturning that ruling. Voices are screaming from both sides of the aisle, and even still that’s not enough. The nation calls into question what it even means to be a mother, reducing the term to birth-giver as if mothers are a means to an end. And still, as always seems to plague the conversation there’s debate going around about the fact that some moms aren’t “real” moms. It’s a showcase of callousness and ignorance, really.
An adoptive mom is no less a mother than a mother who had a baby come from her body. Yet, there are still those who even dare to say that mothers who gave birth via C-section “took the easy way out,” that they, too, are somehow less of a mother than those who pushed a big-headed baby out their lady bits.
All that is a load of hooey.
There are women all over the world that beg and plead for babies to be born from their bodies, yet that’s not their story. These mothers opt to be mothers to the motherless. There are mothers all over the world that never had their own child or chose to adopt. These are still our mothers.
You want to know what makes a mother?
A mother is made when she tries and tries to bring life into the world, yet each month there is another negative. Her dreams slip away slowly, yet she continues to believe, doing everything in her power to nurture her body that it may be a safe place for life to thrive.
A mother is made when she can’t seem to shake nausea and decides to pee on a stick. By some miracle, two pink lines appear. Life. A mother is made.
When she laughs or cries at hearing the heartbeat of that little peanut-looking thing on the ultrasound screen, a mother is made. It’s sheer joy and panic existing simultaneously that overtakes her body.
She carries that baby in her womb doing her best to begin giving that precious gift all she has to offer, all that is within her power to sustain life. She changes her diet: goodbye Dr. Pepper, hello water.
A mother is made in the swollen ankles and walks around the block to keep an active, healthy momma and baby, but also this is the only comfortable position with a beachball growing out the front of her body.
When the test says “pregnant,” but at the first ultrasound there is no heartbeat, dreams are shattered. Motherhood seems ripped from shaking, once hopeful hands. Grief invades. A mother is made.
All seems well, but the genetic testing reveals some concern. The steely resolve to protect this growing life and do what’s best for this child makes a mother.
Between nausea, sickness, swollen ankles, weight gain, diet changes, blood draws, uncertainty, scary news, contractions, discomfort, pain, physical limitations, excitement, and nervousness, mothers are made.
Water breaks, contractions impede the ability to walk, or an appointment because apparently this child is already stubborn, uncertainty, excitement, and nervousness all team up, threatening to swallow her whole yet teaming up to make a mother.
Lying in a hospital bed waiting to be told it’s time, listening to the heartbeat of this miracle, a mother is made.
In those moments, talking with doctors, checking in with nurses, the nerves are fluttering. One mother is made in a delivery that is what some would call textbook. Another mother is made in an expected C-section because that child refuses to turn the correct direction. Still, another mother is made as that baby’s heartbeat is intermittent, or her blood pressure drops, or any number of things that deem this delivery as emergent. Maybe down the hall, one mother has birthed the dreams of another as she entrusts her miracle to another. Mothers are made in all kinds of ways.
And then, the first cries. “Is my baby okay?” A sigh of relief makes a mother.
Or maybe there is silence. Fear makes a mother.
Or there is much hurriedness from doctors and nurses. “Something isn’t quite right” makes a mother.
A mother is made as every single part of her body hurts, or at least the parts she can feel, after birth and the exhaustion is overwhelming. Some mothers are made in operating rooms as ten layers are cut open, intestines are splayed out, other organs are exposed, and then sewn back together to heal.
A mother is made when babies snuggle up on their bare skin for the first time. A mother is made when a baby latches on to her breast for the first time that she may continue to give of herself that her bouncing baby may live. A mother is made as she sits in recovery from her C-section feeding her baby a bottle for the first time, yet that baby is a lazy eater, and it takes a team to figure out that moving that baby’s chin just a bit will get her to eat.
A mother is made when she hops in the car with that new baby for the first time, praying for safety on the way home as she isn’t really sure she trusts the car seat is buckled correctly.
Still, a mother is made when she walks out of the hospital with her baby behind in the neonatal intensive care unit. She lives her life in three hour increments, never straying too far from the hospital so she doesn’t miss an opportunity to feed or change her baby that’s requiring extra care. And while she knows this staying behind is going to cost her, she doesn’t care, as long as that baby is well. Whatever it takes.
Even still, another mother is made as she leaves the hospital without her baby, making arrangements for a different type of homegoing. She carries her grief on her baby instead of a baby in her arms.
A mother is made as she learns. She learns her baby’s cries. She learns her limits. She learns sleep patterns and eating habits.
A mother is made in the stillness of newborn nights as she rocks her child. Her baby snuggling against her chest, drooling, and while she knows these days are limited and she wants to cherish these moments, she also knows that she is HOT and, “Can we just lay the baby down already so melt?”
A mother is made in the dark of night as she cries, asking God why didn’t He let her baby live. Her heart ready to love, not ready to grieve, carrying the burdens of a thousand days.
A mother is made between screams, spit-ups, doctor visits, frantic calls to veteran mothers, and curiosity about whether or not poop should look like that. Fever spikes, dirty clothes, blowouts, baskets full of pacifiers, diapers, and formula are what her days look like now.
Mothers are made when tantrums turn to testaments of growth with that tender-hearted child saying, “I just need a hug now.” Mothers are made when those babies understand that there is nothing - not one thing - that they could do to change the love they have for those tiny humans.
When walls are colored on and tempers flare, mothers are made. The response to that situation to show grace but still provide the necessary discipline proves that. But, honestly, mothers are made in messing all that up, too. When she’s the one screaming and crying, when she’s the one needing grace, a mother is made. It’s the honesty that makes a mother.
That grocery bill skyrockets because a growing boy is eating her out of house and home and a mother is made as she shows up to make sure needs are met.
When there are holes in jeans and skirts and shirts and laundry is endless, mothers are made.
When advice is sought and secrets are dropped in her lap, mothers are made. A friend, a confidant, and a trusted safe place is what mothers are made of. It’s who she is. Her children know they are safe with her.
A mother is made when schedules are chaotic and McDonald’s is shoved down throats on the way to three different practices. And while McDonald’s might not be the healthiest choice, you’ll never find a louder, potentially more embarrassing, cheerleader.
Never once in the making of motherhood does she feel like she “got it right,” but her continuous efforts to love her kids well is what makes a mother. And while there is pride in her effort she knows, this isn’t the only way mothers are made…
Mothers are made by stepping into places others cannot. By saying yes to providing for children whose mothers have walked away or have been lost, these mothers are made in making hard decisions, sacrificing of themselves just like any other mother.
Mothers are made in recognizing that they can fill gaps and be a sign of hope.
Some mothers are made when they take strangers into their homes and love them. Even when these strangers have been told they’re unlovable, they’re unwanted, they’re not worthy, mothers come in and fight the lies.
Some mothers come second, and their making lies in laying the pride of being the first aside but letting the pride of being able to meet a need bubble to the surface.
We need adoptive and foster mommas. But still, mothers aren’t just made in these ways.
Mothers are made by investing in the lives of others around them, even if they are - by the world’s standards - childless. These mothers are safe places, pointing younger generations back to Jesus at every turn.
This mother is made in the still-dark morning hours as she prays over those she spends her life with. She knows that while these babies don’t live under her roof, she still has a responsibility to care for them. She knows she has to go before and pave the way for others to come behind her.
This is one of those mothers made through seeing her desires become God’s desires. When He said no, she said okay, but resolved to be obedient to invest.
She’s a mother that was made by telling people the truth, even if they didn’t want to hear it. She was forged in walking through fires with those who felt abandoned, lost, unloved, unseen.
Spiritual mothers are how generations of faithfulness begin. She, too, is how mothers are made.
Mothers are made in all sorts of ways, under all sorts of circumstances. But mothers aren’t just born. They’re made.
And hear me clearly: Mothers aren’t just birthgivers. Motherhood isn’t up to be the subject of political posturing, but that’s a post for another day.