When my first daughter was only a few hours old, the doctor was doing his rounds and, finding just the two of us, sat down and chatted for a few minutes. The doctor and I had known each other for many years, so it was not unusual for us to have a more personal conversation than most people have with their doctors. In that quiet moment, we talked about parenting and thought into the future, wondering what this precious baby would become as an adult. The doctor made a statement that has stayed with me. “You are now a mother and will be one until the day you die.”
I didn’t find it a morbid statement. Just hours from having given birth to the most beautiful baby in the whole world, I was proud. Yes! I am a mother! And always will be!
As time went on, I had three more daughters. As my children were growing up, I took pains to be a good mother, teach them well, all the right stuff. And I had this vision that when the youngest turned eighteen, my job of being a mother would end. Instead, I find the doctor’s statement has come back to me.
My oldest daughter, now twenty-six, is married and a mother herself. Her daughter is a precocious eighteen months. My second daughter, twenty-four, is six months from getting married. My third, is twenty, and attending college. And the youngest, as I mentioned, is eighteen. About six years ago, I married for the second time and welcomed two other daughters into my life. They are both in their thirties, both married, both have two children (a boy and a girl each).
Six daughters. At times our lives define the word drama. I could write a master’s thesis on adolescence and hormones and uncontrolled insanity as opposed to controlled. Instead, I’ve chosen to share moments of our lives, of my four daughters plus two.