When my husband and I got engaged and started premarital counseling we were told that nothing shows you how selfish you are like marriage. We will soon celebrate our 8th anniversary, and honestly, I have not found that to be true because I married a very selfless man with a servant’s heart. Since, for the most part, within reason, he lets me do what I want, I have been shielded from the harsh reality of how much I prioritize my comfort. Until now…

First, let me say for the record that I deeply enjoy being a parent. Our daughter is the most delightful, cherubic, funny child in the world. Outside of teething and getting strapped into the car seat (don’t blame her on either of those fronts), she is also wonderfully easygoing and makes me look like a much better parent than I am. I am incredibly honored to be able to call myself her mother.

Also, for the record, I have never been more tired in my life!  

Some of you parents who have been around the block a few times are, I am sure, knowingly chuckling at this point (if you are not a parent but think you might one day want to be one, take note). I honestly thought that the euphoric love you feel for your child would carry you through on dove wings the complete overhaul your life goes under once you have a baby.

Euphoric love- yep, got that.    Transcending the mountains of fatigue on soft, white wings with a serene and blissful smile- uh, no.

This week, our home was hit with a stomach bug. By 3 a.m. Thursday morning, I swear the only fluid my body had left to give up was the blood in my veins. It was ugly. After spending the majority of the night in a fetal position on a bathmat next to the toilet, I finally crawled into bed and passed out, happy to sleep through the remainder of March if time would allow.

At 7:30 a.m., Rosalind woke up.

Upside: she didn’t catch the bug. Downside: she wasn’t interested in sitting perfectly still on the sofa for 12 hours with me while my body vibrated with chills and back spasms.

Her day was going to go on. And mine (albeit kicking and screaming) would vicariously have to as well. While feeding her cheerios with one hand, my face planted on the table, groaning in misery, longing for the days when I could stay in bed and watch Netflix, a memory emerged from yonder year.

When I was little, my mom and I were visiting my grandparents, and we both got a similar flu. I remember waking up in the middle of the night and getting sick on the way to the bathroom. Then, feeling much better as one does after the horrid deed is done, I promptly crawled back into bed to sleep, leaving my mom to deal with the consequences on an equally upset stomach.

I remember noting with some surprise that she did not seem too thrilled and wondering if I should help her. But in my 5-year-old wisdom, I concluded that parents don’t feel as sick as kids do when they have a stomachache.

As IF. Self-serving logic, if ever there was any!

While I did let Rosalind take an extra long “nap” (the last hour and half was just I napping and she sitting safely confined in her crib with toys hoping someone would eventually remember to let her out) we survived the day. It was long, but we got through it.

You don’t have the luxury of being selfish when you are a parent. I know, I know- it goes without saying, right? But “knowing” theoretically and “knowing” experientially are two very different things.  

I “knew” my mom prioritized my care even when she felt tired (or sick). I “knew” she was busy but made time to do things I wanted to do despite any personal frustrations (like when I had to go to Disc Jockey to get Matchbox 20’s Yourself or Someone Like You album in the middle of her trying to paint a room). I “knew” she loved me deeply through word and action. But now I know what that tired, frustrated, and intensely deep love all really feels like.

Becoming a mother has given me a 21 lb. (and growing) magnifying glass on my proclivity to be selfish. I see how easily I get agitated when my day is slipping away with seemingly nothing accomplished. I am embarrassed at how tempted I can be to check out and not engage with her as intentionally as I ought. Motherhood has also made me realize how much my mom sacrificed for me and has given me an overwhelming new gratitude for her as a parent and a friend. It has deepened my respect and awe of my husband, who consistently puts my needs first. They have both modeled love, as I hope I can do in return for my children and for them.

I cringe a lot more at myself these days, at my self-centeredness, at my impatience, at my lack of gratitude. As painful as it can be to see these faults, I know it is a good thing. I also see now the incredible wisdom and grace God allows in designing children not to retain much memory of the first three years of life because that gives me time to grow up some more myself…