The Birth of a Mom

I’m a mom who loves listening to another mom’s birth story. It’s the story identifying the pivotal time in a woman’s life when she is born into motherhood. A mom is a mom from the moment she finds out a child is on its way. Whether she experiences being a mom through personally experiencing pregnancy and labor, adoption, or mourning the loss of a child she won’t know on this side of Heaven, they are immortalized moments in a woman’s life that forever change her and I will always make time to listen to those birth stories if a mom is willing to share.

In my experience, God doesn’t wait for you to be ready for what He’s about to place in front of you. No. He trusts you before you trust yourself. In my experience, God drop-kicks you on a trajectory that will either throw you into the arms of the one who promises to deliver and provide, or into the depths of the one who promises falsehood and deception. I’ve walked both sides and know which I cling to. I wasn’t ready to become a mom. I didn’t make all the right decisions to get the honor of the title or responsibility. However, I was still entrusted with the duty and provided the opportunity nonetheless.

I used to think the introduction to my mom story was unique. As I talk to other moms and learn more about their mom stories, I realize how typical it is to start a mom story in an atypical way. Think about it. Assuming you are reading this because you are a mom, how did your mom story start? How did your mom’s mom story start? Your best friend’s mom story start? Your sister’s? Your coworker’s? Here’s a truth – the story is going to have an element of surprise that makes it beautifully unique and inspiring to listen to. Think about your mom story. Whether you planned for it, prayed for it, waited for it, or were completely surprised by it -- it’s where your mom story started and it’s a very rare chance when you get to know ahead of time that your whole life is about to change. You know that when your baby is born, life is going to change forever and you get to intentionally grab ahold of every second and record it to memory. Not all will be pleasant, but even the late-pregnancy heartburn and labor pains add pleasant nuance to my story.

Looking back at the introduction of my mom story, it’s really indicative of the chapters that follow. It’s the opening scene of my story that initially taught me how to adapt, overcome and mom on. My story starts with me living my best life in Nashville. I was 25, a huge nerd studying in grad school to be a teacher, and working as a nanny for two fantastic families with beautiful baby girls. I’d been living in Nashville for about three years at this point and had the pleasure of working as a nanny for some amazing families during that time. Talk about learning a strong mom game; the moms I worked for were some of the most beautiful, creative, maternally-fierce women I’ve ever known.

As often as I could afford it, I traveled around doing some promotional sidework. In my travels, I met a boy. He was someone who fit into my lifestyle and his philosophy on life parallel to mine at the time -- travel, adventure, excitement and fun, and endless dreaming about possibilities for the future. As a hopeless romantic who watched way too many Disney princess movies growing up, I focused more on the illusion of Prince Charming than the reality of temptation.

Red flags were waving and I was committed to dancing around them making excuses or completely ignoring them altogether because I didn’t want to be wrong and I truly believed in fairytales. One night after a friend’s wedding, I got a Facebook message from a stranger claiming that his sister also got pregnant by the suave king and he left her. Red flag or vicious rumor? A couple weeks after that, he called me from a hospital room because he had a broken hand from getting in a fight. Red flag or justified and unavoidable defense? After some time, I couldn’t even shower without having three or four texts asking why I wasn’t answering my phone. I made the mistake once of leaving my phone in the car while I went grocery shopping. I came back to several text messages emphatically accusing me of being with other men or of cheating on him with my ex-boyfriend and that’s why I’m not answering my phone. Red flag or just concerned for my well-being? I immediately called home.

I shared my red-flag concerns that until now, I had carefully defended as having some fictitiously justifiable excuse to validate them. Reality slapped my brain and I saw flashing images of what life might look like if I followed through with the plans I was making for the new little life growing inside of me. This fictional life I’d fabricated in my mind was built on a foundation of sand and my ego was keeping me from admitting that.

If I’m being honest, I would’ve followed through with the move if it was just me. I was always up for an adventure and was equipped with stubbornness that would push me to follow through even without it making complete sense. However, I was about 15 weeks pregnant, and it wasn’t just me. I became a mom the minute I found out I was pregnant. Seeing that positive pregnancy test meant that from that moment on, it wasn’t about me. Everything I ate, drank, experienced and decided was not just going to affect me. Not even my stubbornness could get me to overlook my responsibility as a mom to provide a safe life for my child. That was the catalyst to taking off the blindfold, clearly seeing the evidence and realizing the level of instability and risk if I wasn’t honest with myself.

I tried communicating my hesitations and fears about our relationship to “the boy” and was still open to hearing any message that indicated this could still work and was a mutual work in progress. I needed assurance that if I moved a state away to live with him, I wasn’t risking a safe life for my baby. All I received in response was, “If you don’t move here now, then we’re done.” After hearing and processing that harsh ultimatum, I responded by accepting my own responsibility as a mom; I held my position to stay until I had more conviction in his ability to provide a safe home and life for a baby. His response was to hang up the phone and thus relieve himself of any responsibility and contribution. My response was to cry.

I stood there, phone in hand, thinking, What now? Should I call him back and give in? Should I stand my ground and figure this out? What just happened? I let the tears unleash as all of the questions, doubts, thoughts and feelings followed. I didn’t have answers. I just cried. I didn’t cry about the relationship ending or losing a man I thought I loved. I didn’t cry because I thought it was a mistake to finally see the red flags and set boundaries. I cried because I felt guilty. I cried because I was embarrassed. I cried because my baby deserved a normal, dual-parent homelife.

I was a nanny at the time and this all unfolded as I sat on the floor next to a playmat as two infants batted at the light-up toys dangling over their heads and kicked their feet to generate a cacophony of melodic sounds from the toys around them. The babies started their own crying and mine had to cease. I wiped away my own tears on a questionably clean burp cloth and I started interpreting the cries to see what they needed. Nap, bottle, attention, diaper, burp -- we all know there are different cries for each.

At that moment, I didn’t have time to feel sorry for myself, regret the decisions that got me there, fear the hardships ahead knowing I had to raise a baby on my own or of what others might think with my swollen belly and no wedding ring. At that moment, I had babies who needed me. I gave each a bottle, did the dishes, and started their individual naptime routines. One of the babies always went down easy. The other one took more of a cuddle routine, so I paced around the room in the typical figure-8 pattern, holding her in the preferred belly-to-belly cradle position, and humming our song since my singing voice would be counterproductive to coaxing an infant to sleep. As we kept the steady pace around the room, I was washed over with a sense of calm knowing that I was made for this. If I was meant to be a single mom, it’s because God gave me all I needed to be all my baby needed. My journey as a mom evolved as my faith evolved and Joshua 1:9 became my first momtra:

“Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged, for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go.”

I put my feet to the pavement and started mapping out the plan to make this new life happen. I moved home and fell right into a new groove as I pivoted with a new plan to finish up student teaching and have my Masters in Education just in time. Best laid plans. I got another brisk reminder that my plans make God laugh and I was reminded I’m not in control. Student teaching ended about a month early with my water breaking at 4 a.m. about four weeks before my scheduled due date. I was so rooted in my plan that going into labor early didn’t even register. I laid there Googling on my phone, What does it feel like when your water breaks? It took me some time and a few trips to the bathroom to admit the plan was out the window and this was really happening. I didn’t even have a bag packed or those cute little onesies completely laundered and ready. All the newborn laundry was still in the washer or waiting to go in.

I went in and woke up my parents telling them my water broke. As if this weren’t exciting enough, my mom was scheduled to have her knee replaced that same day at another hospital 50 miles away. Her plan was to get her surgery done and have that month of recovery so she was ready to be there when the baby arrived. I guess making our own plans is a family trait inherited from my mom. Silly mortals. My mom was going to Bloomington and I was set to deliver in Peoria, so Dad went with Mom and I called my brother to come and pick me up. He showed up in his typical fashion with jokes to ease the tension and support to keep me calm and focused. My sister supportively agreed to be by my side during the delivery. My mom called her sister who lived two hours away and made it to the hospital in record time to stand in as the pseudo grandma.

My water broke at 4 a.m. and Caden Henry Meier was born at 5:58 p.m. on November 22, 2011. Caden came into this world surrounded by those who loved him and rallied in love and devotion. Mom’s surgery wrapped up in time for Dad to book it the 50-mile drive to welcome his second grandchild -- another grandson to farm with. I sat there in amazement as I held him and watched each important person in his life take a turn introducing themselves and studying the perfect little features of my miracle. I felt true humility in the presence of a miracle that God gave to me in His devout grace and mercy. God made me a mom despite my path to get there.

Some moms try for years to have a baby and are successful, others are not. Some moms have a mom story with a faithful partner by their side and others don’t. Some moms plan, calculate, prepare and it all falls together accordingly and others have to Goolge what it feels like when their water breaks because they’re so unprepared. Some moms cultivate a life in preparation and waiting patiently for a child in the world who needs the safety and love she will provide. Some births happen naturally, with an epidural, at home, in a birthing center, in the water at home, or unpredictably on the way to the hospital. Some babies are born perfectly healthy and others need extra care and attention. Some are born early, on time, or late. So many circumstances and so many stories that are uniquely awesome.

No matter what your story is, it’s valuable and divinely written to be uniquely yours.