Sometimes

Sometimes, I regret becoming a parent.  The moment of regret only lasts about a second, a minute, a couple of minutes.  But sometimes, I really do.

Sometimes, I look at those little faces and am completely overwhelmed.  Sometimes, I just wanna run.  Sometimes, I just want to hang my head and tell everyone that they were right.  I had no business becoming a mother at the ripe ole' age of 19.  19!  What was I thinking?!  I'll tell you what I was thinking.  I was thinking just like any other 18 (at the time) year old.   I could take on the world!  I was free!  There was nothing I couldn't conquer!...Maybe I wasn't completely wrong, but me?!  A MOTHER?!  Seriously?!

My child hood sucked!...I won't go into a lot of detail, but it did.  I was raised by more than a handful of people and families.  My mother was a Jehovah's Witness.  My real father wasn't around.  My Step father was Catholic.  My Aunt was Baptist....Sometimes Holiness.  My Grandmother...believed in God.  None of the people I ever lived with attended worship on a regular basis.  We would go to Mass on Saturday, The Kingdom Hall on Sunday and the Baptist church on Wednesday's.  Sometimes we wouldn't go anywhere for a long time.  You wanna talk about a confused child....

Moving on.

I found out I was pregnant with my oldest daughter the fall after I graduated high school.  I was 18 and far from being married.  Can you imagine the slack I got for that?!  I also got lots of lectures.  Lots of  "Babies require round the clock care." and  "You have no idea how much goes into taking care of a baby." ....I got all of this scary "advice".  Me being me, I took it all with a grain of salt.  I was excited I was going to be a mother.  I was going to give my baby security.  I was going to love my baby like no one had ever loved me.  My baby was going to know she was wanted, and I knew that I was going to be the best mom ever.  And for the most part, that was and still is true.

As an eighteen year old, I was naive to the fact that my precious pink little bundle of joy would eventually grow into a child.  A currently almost nine year old child that watches my every move.  A nine year old child that has questions about cooking, cleaning, and recently, her SOUL!

Proverbs 22:

"Train up a child in the way he should go: and when he is old, he will not depart from it."

Um.  Wait a minute.   I don't recall anyone ever saying "Kimberly, do you realize that you are responsible for making sure your child makes it to heaven?!"  I often wonder what I would've said if someone had actually said that to me.  I wonder if I would have tried to be a good godly mother if someone had said something like to me.  No one did, though.  Everyone just tried to scare the wits out of me by telling me how "awful" having a baby was.   What is wrong with the world?!

......

Three.  Steven and I have three little souls (besides our own) that we are primarily responsible for.  Not just lives, but souls.

Sometimes (only for a second)  that overwhelms me to the point of running far, far away.  It literally scares the daylights out of me.  Three.  Not just one, but three.  Not just my own.  Not a stranger on the street.  My KIDS.  The very fibers of my being.  I don't know about any one else but that is a very overwhelming thought that I have only recently been  putting serious thought into.

Encouraging thoughts and advice are always welcome : )

Happy FAT Tuesday, Everyone!!!