Little Mommy

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From the moment she was born, it was obvious that this one? She was a girl.

Biology aside, Birdie was every bit the definition of lady. Feminine to the core, she gravitated towards beautiful things, soft words, and chances to nurture anyone or anything. And after four boys in a row, we were delighted with the change of pace.

 

It’s been a learning curve, parenting this child. While she’s not our first girl, she’s the first we’ve had that has embraced domesticity so fiercely. Where Mary Hannah was focused on caring for animals and recreating scenes from her favorite stories with stuffed animals, Birdie prefers to “babysit” Jude. Truth be known, she is baby crazy. Jude’s arrival took the pressure off of Simon, who was chafing at her constant attempts to mother him.

Her big sister’s wardrobe at age 4 was almost exclusively comprised of overalls; Birdie hasn’t worn a pair of pants since she was 2 and I insisted that she not slog through the mud of a Northwest spring in a dress. (I have since relented.)

She likes to cook, she likes to fold clothes, she likes to knead dough. She loves coloring, with her favorite use for the results being sweet cards for all the people in her life, all signed “Birdie,” with a curly flourish on the final “e.”  She asks after everyone. “How is Baby Benjamin?” “Is Mamaw o.k.?” Her favorite colors are violet and pink. She is waiting for the day when I finally agree that she’s ready to knit.

 

As a special treat, we bought her a broom and dustpan. You would have thought we’d given her the moon. Tidying is her specialty. You want to make her really, really happy? Ask her to make your bed.

She loves stories of domestic bliss: Little Mommy, the Little House chapter books, We Help Mommy, are perennial favorites.

I’ve loved having a constant companion, and someone who not only sees value in what I’ve invested my life in doing, but thinks it’s fun. But I won’t lie. Some days, there’s a certain amount of pressure to raising a little girl who wants nothing more than to be a Momma. Because while I feel compelled to be a good role model to all of my children, for this one? For this one, I feel like it’s imperative.

I want to show her all the joy of serving, all the delight in the little things, all the happiness to be found in being the glue for a family. But I also want her to see that there are hard parts. There are mornings where you haven’t slept more than a handful of hours the night before, yet you have to get up, do, and be kind about it. There are kids who disobey, and husbands who need you to handle an insurance situation while they’re at work, and pots of rice that boil over on the stove. There are unmet expectations and weariness, and an inability to ever, ever think you’ve done enough.

I want to teach her all the things she’ll need as a wife and mother, yes. But more than that, I want her to know that this sacred undertaking is so much more than the surface result. I want her to realize that a woman is not measured by her ability to make an incredible pot roast, or pull off a perfectly themed birthday for a toddler. I want her to know that good wives are not simply their ability to keep the clothes clean or have a smile at all times.

I want Birdie to grow up knowing that this is hard work, but it is worth it. And through it, should this really be her ultimate call, she will be filled up, yes … but she will also be refined.

Having this precious girl following behind me, tying on her own apron, watching my hands to see exactly how they crimp the edges of the pie crust, listening to my tone as I correct her siblings, counting how many times a day I say yes to stories and play-doh and fingerpaints is a joy. But it’s also challenging and convicting. I check myself daily with the reminder to be real. To share my heart. But to do so with a constant voice that points her back to her Father in heaven as the sustenance and purpose for all that I do.

The life of a wife and mother is not the sweet, picturesque perfection depicted in storybooks.  In many ways, it is more so. In others, so much less. But it is a noble calling, and one I am delighted to pass on to the next generation.