When I was a little girl, I remember having the feeling that one day I would do something big.
Do all little kids feel that way?
I never really knew what the “big” thing was, but for years that tiny voice was still inside me. I was destined for greatness.
Eventually, with maturity and time, and realizing that I didn’t have some sort of one-of-a-kind Spidey-sense, the feeling faded to more of a general desire of “do-goodedness.” I — like anyone — had the power to do something big in the general sense of the word as we’re all called to do great things with our unique talents. But in college and my early adulthood, I mostly channeled that idea to career success. Not completely selfishly, of course — but still, the idea of doing something “big” correlated more with the universal standard of what makes someone successful.
But then, the other night, after rocking my 22-month-old in the white glider in her dark room while singing Ba Ba Blacksheep.
And after kissing my 5-year-old boy on the forehead and telling him that I’m the luckiest mom in the whole wide world.
And after tucking the pink and green and yellow quilt her auntie made her up to the soft neck of my 3-year-old.
And after crawling into my king-sized sheets with my pint-sized newborn for nursing and snuggles, I realized:
I’ve done it.
This is my something big.
Though not always glamorous or highly-acclaimed or well-paid, being a mother to these children feels like the role I’ve been chosen for my entire life.
And no matter what else I do — or don’t do — that’s big or small or maybe just medium — nothing will outshine the greatest calling I have ever known:
To be the heart of my home.
“The woman is at the heart of the home. Let us pray that we women realize the reason for our existence: to love and be loved and through this love become instruments of peace in the world.” – Mother Teresa