April Perry is a mother of four precious children and is the founder of "Power of Moms." She received a BA in Communications and loves reading, writing, learning from the wonderful mothers around her, and spending time with her family (especially her cute husband). My four-year-old son has been doing some odd things lately. When he bought an entire quart of frozen yogurt with his own money, he ate all but the last bite—which he saved in the freezer for weeks. I kept asking, “Ethan, why don’t you finish your frozen yogurt?” He replied, “I like to have some left!”
A few weeks later, when I saw a bottle of flavored fizzy water (labeled with Ethan’s name) sitting in the refrigerator with just one sip left, I did not even have to ask. It reminded me of the time I called him downstairs to get ready for his final soccer practice. He cried, “But I don’t want to use it up!”
As I thought about my son’s behavior, I realized that what he really wants is something to hope for. Taking that a step further, that is exactly what I want and need as a mother. For example, I hope that someday I can leave the house without arranging for or paying someone to stay there for me. I hope that eventually I will sleep soundly at night without worrying that my little children might call out for me. At the same time, I hope the day never comes when I will not be needed.
I hope I will earn a doctorate degree before I am fifty. I hope someday my children will think, “Wow, our mom really did a good job raising us,” and I hope they will have their own children and understand why I get choked up every time I sneak into their rooms to watch them sleep. I am in awe of how much I love them.
A few weeks ago, I threw away our baby swing. It had faithfully rocked four babies and was clearly falling apart, but as I disassembled it and put it out by the trash, my heart ached. You know the feeling, right? If we do have more children, I can get another swing, but having it around kept my hope alive that I was not yet saying “goodbye” to the baby-era of my life. I saw this same type of hope in the woman who sold me a baby crib at a garage sale. Her youngest son was eight, and she did not plan to have any more children, yet she had kept the crib in perfect condition, carefully wrapped and stored in her attic. I practically had to pry the pieces out of her hands! The only way she could allow me to load the crib into my car was by remembering that another little baby would get to enjoy it.
It really is hope that keeps us from falling apart every time our children advance to the next phase of their lives—never again to nurse, sit in a high chair, or get excited about Chuck E. Cheese. My sister-in-law told me how emotional she felt watching her son go off to Kindergarten—excited about his new backpack and not even aware that he was going to be desperately missed. My husband refuses to think about the day our daughters will leave the house; it is painful for him to imagine a day without them coloring at the kitchen table or asking for a bedtime story. However, we “let” our children grow up because we have hopes that their lives will bring wonderful experiences and opportunities.
This idea of hope also plays into the ordinary, monotonous parts of motherhood. Obviously, every job has its tedious and boring requirements, and whether we are earning money to support our families or keeping up with the house and appointments, there are times when all of us are well past the point of exasperation. We keep going because we hope that by paying the bills, providing a healthy home environment, and/or making the Saturday night milk run, our families will grow happily.
I currently have a six-month-old baby, whom I adore, but who needs lots of care. Some days, after spoon- and bottle-feeding him, changing his diapers, keeping the house relatively clean, investing quality time with him and his siblings, etc., etc., I wonder if I will ever have a daily routine that does not leave me so physically and mentally exhausted. It is those days when I think about hope. Even though motherhood is “hard,” we can do hard things.
I have hope that this daily love affair I have with strained sweet potatoes and mashed bananas will turn into a healthy son who will love me like I love him. I have hope that the hours I spend playing Monopoly will one day help my children learn to manage money and seek wise investments, and I have hope that the moments when I think, “I’m not strong enough for this!” will one day pale in comparison to the successful family I have raised.
The sweetness of my son’s hope (for frozen yogurt, fizzy water, and soccer practice) continues to remind me to keep my own hopes alive. Whether I am trying to hold on to the fierce, poignant love I have for my little children or simply trying not to go batty at the end of a wearisome day, a firm, bright hope that great things will come from the work I am doing is, for me, what being a mom is all about.