Staying at home

I've been a stay-at-home mom for all but two of the months I've been a mom. It's been wonderful.  I truly don't miss work at all.  I'm grateful that I was able to reach a lot of people and achieve a level of success that I feel reflects how hard I worked and how committed I was to excelling.  I was on billboards!  In commercials!  What?!  

(Okay, I'm embarrassed for myself right now.  Please, let's never mention this again.)

But the rewards I receive every day in Baby Girl's smile and her squeals when she sees me and her grabbing my hair or cheeks so she can eat my nose far eclipse all of the success I enjoyed at work.




I know that this doesn't mirror everyone's experience.  Baby Girl is fun, easy-going, and just so easy to make happy.  Sleep training was hard (for me, especially), but not insurmountable.  Feeding her can be trying because she's so social and wants to play more than eat.  But we all know she's not missing many meals.  For my friends who have to work or who have decided that it's necessary or important for their families/mental well-being/etc, I support you and your decision, because I know it wasn't made lightly.  I understand, too, the draw of contributing to the family income, being told you're doing a great job, and interacting with (hopefully) intelligent adults all day.  It's not just nice, it's gratifying (I won't list all of the reasons work also sucks far, far more than even the hardest day staying at home.).  But either way, it's your thing, girl.  Do what you wanna do. 




But recently I had an experience that I can't shake, and it confirmed to me the rightness of my place being at home.  More importantly, it strengthened my testimony of the divine role of motherhood and a child's need for the constant presence of her mother (particularly versus, say, a grandma.  Or an extra dad.).


I took Baby Girl to the library to play in the "First Five Years" play area.  While I was sitting on the floor playing with her at one of the little stations, a little girl of perhaps 6 or 7 sat near us, and her two littler sisters hovered nearby.  




"Is this your little baby?" she asked.




I smiled.  "Yes, she is."




"Do you work here?"




"Nope."




"Are you just here to play with your baby?"




"Yep.  We just came to play."

"Because you love your little baby?

"Yep."


She stared at me as if this was the most astonishing thing she'd ever heard.  Then she held open Where's Waldo and started to tell me about the book.  She asked me to play with her.  To read with her.  Her younger sisters came over and were almost sitting on my lap.  I talked to them about what they were reading and asked them a few questions.  They ate up the attention.  In that moment, I knew of a certainty that it wasn't just that a random woman was giving them attention.  It was that a mother was paying them attention.




It broke my heart.




As "The Family: A Proclamation to the World" teaches us:  "Parents have a sacred duty to rear their children in love and righteousness, to provide for their physical and spiritual needs, and to teach them to love and serve one another, observe the commandments of God, and be law-abiding citizens wherever they live. ...Mothers are primarily responsible for the nurture of their children."




Everyone's situation is different, and I'm sure that if these sweet little girls have a mother, she is doing her best to take care of them, just as I am for Baby Girl.  But my place is at home with her, and I'm eternally grateful that I have the opportunity to be in my place.