selfish.

Selfish what? Selfish me. Selfish me as a mother. It's a horrible reality, you know, to be asked to give of yourself completely, only to find yourself refusing with cold, selfish distain.

You see, I have an out. I have no biological children. There isn't a baby that is half of me that answers to no one else. I am often paid to be a "mother." Part of it is my job. I'm the not person who is on 24/7.

Except... I am.

One does not gain parenthood by sometimes being there. I won't maintain affection or stability by only doing what is required of me to garner a paycheck.

I am "mom."

all the time.

except, of course, when I choose not to be.

Ah, the ugly truth. Oh, yes. I can choose not to be. I can force my own space, my own agenda, my own rights. They are ugly indeed. Snotty, cold, bitter, angry, and self-important are written in large banners across that particular space. They have a perfect, distant font, and scrolling designs that quickly purvey this single meaning: mine.

Is it natural? naturally.

Is it righteous? ....

I'd rather not answer that, if you know what I mean.

There's nothing like this in the world that will so quickly expose every self-serving impulse in your heart. I constantly struggle back and forth between what I want to do, and the extremely pressing needs of the E's & D. I have to do lists, recreation, projects, games, movies, cooking projects--- whole bevy of things that do not include them.

Until one of them is staring at me with eyes that just scream "love me." Its so strange that my quickest response to that request is to turn away, ignore, and justify my self-centered existence.

The only problem is, if I ignore their need for love, it will grow bigger and bigger and bigger until it begins to wreak havoc.

Love me.

But what about me?

what about my focus?

what about my lovely, comfortable, selfish procrastination?

E. calls me in to say goodnight to her every night. Sometimes I play her a lullaby on my guitar. Always we pray, I hug her, kiss her, tell her I love her, and that I see her in the morning. Every night I walk out of her room, tired, worn, with tears brimming in my eyes.

I don't know what it is, except that the love I feel for her expands beyond what I can even feel. Every night, as she needs me to say its ok, that she's safe, that she's loved--- it rises up in me threatens to spill over. When I walk out of that room I question myself on how I could ever be selfish like I am. It seems ludicrous.

And then... then sometimes minutes later, someone is asking for something and everything in my heart is resisting.

"And hearing this, the ten became indignant with the two brothers. But Jesus called them to Himself and said, “You know that the rulers of the Gentiles lord it over them, and their great men exercise authority over them.“It is not this way among you, but whoever wishes to become great among you shall be your servant, and whoever wishes to be first among you shall be your slave; just as the Son of Man did not come to be served, but to serve, and to give His life a ransom for many.”

Still learning...