One of the definitions of hope is “to expect with confidence.”  Hope is not merely a wish;  it is confidently expecting a specific result.  However, sometimes we hope for things that most likely will not happen.  Have you ever watched another mom (or yourself) try to give away a baby crib, baby clothes, or cherished toys her children loved?  Sometimes we hold on to such items with the hope that we might revisit those precious days again.  My five-year-old is convinced that once she reaches ninety, she will turn back into a baby.  Sometimes I wish that were true.

 

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.