Parenting is Not for the Weak, or is it?

You have to be a tough cookie to be a parent. And, I for one am not a tough cookie.

I am not strong.

I am not hard.

I am soft.

I am weak.

A weak vessel.

I always have been, and I always will be. My husband says that I am stronger than I think I am, but I'm not so sure. It doesn't take much to break this little girl. . .

especially when she is 39 weeks pregnant and just sent her precious oldest son off to kindergarten.

And, so when the speech therapist called to talk to me about a few things she had noticed about Joshua's speech, I fell apart. Evidently there are 3 letters that he doesn't say just right, and she feels that he would benefit from some therapy.

What? Excuse me, did I hear her right? Did she say that my Joshua isn't perfect?

News-flash for Mommy.

Because, in my eyes those cute little l's that he says like w's are perfect. Perfectly cute, and I love the way he talks, and I never really noticed them before she pointed them out to me. And, how come some stranger noticed something about my son that I didn't notice?

And, I miss him. And, I am overwhelmed as it is. I thought that I was doing good just sending him off to school - this alone has been hard enough. Now, they are telling me that he needs speech therapy. And, I am pregnant and everything seems like a much bigger deal than it really is right now.

So, I went to her office and met with her Tuesday morning after I dropped my little boy off. For the first time Tuesday morning, he told me he didn't want to go to school. And, after I dropped him off, I drove around for a minute to collect myself because I know how weak I am - especially when my little boy is sad. And, I felt fragile, ready to fall apart at any second. But, I pulled myself together as best I could, and I entered the school to meet with the speech therapist. I think I was in her office 5 minutes before I fell apart. So, I sat there across the desk from this sweet lady with a box of kleenex in front of me crying as she described this process to me. She kept apologizing and saying, "I'm sorry. I am upsetting you, aren't I?" I kept assuring her that my tears had little to do with Joshua's speech problems and more to do with the fact that Joshua had been sad to leave this morning and that I have a gang of unruly hormones reigning my emotions. Weak. So, very weak. It was quite possibly one of my most embarrassing moments - except it lasted like 30 minutes. Classic Erin.

I planned on stopping by the Principal's office to discuss my desire to begin a Mom's in Touch Group for our Elementary school after I left the speech therapist's office. But, needless to say, I didn't have the strength, confidence, or emotional stability to do anything but run to my car with my head down and sunglasses firmly in place. As I drove off, I called Erik to tell him my sad little story.

In the time it took me to tell him about the meeting, Joshua's sweet teacher called my cell phone, Erik's cell phone, and our home phone. Not reaching us at any of the three numbers, she called my cell again and caught me as I was pulling the van into our driveway. The therapist told her about my little falling apart episode in her office, and she was calling to check on me, to assure me that Joshua was fine, and that he would in no way be singled out from the rest of the class for therapy. A day doesn't go by that I don't thank God for her. No doubt God hand-picked her for my little man. . . and for me, too.

After I got home, Deana B. called to see if I wanted to meet her at the Mexican restaurant for lunch. Ummm. Yes. (Since both her mother and my mother are in town awaiting the birth of Erik Daniel, we have automatic babysitters!) As I entered the Mexican restaurant, I prayed, "Please God, I am so tired of crying. Help me get through lunch without crying again." I sat down, and I could tell that Deana could tell that I had been crying. But, being the friend that she is, she never inquired about it. She just told me about her morning and gave me time to gather my emotions, my thoughts, and my heart before I shared it with her.

Deana B. is, in my opinion, strong. And, just being around her makes my little weak heart feel strong. Somehow she just exudes strength, and I left lunch feeling once again like I could, in fact, handle sending my son off to kindergarten. I could, in fact, handle the fact that he needs speech therapy. I could, in fact, handle the surging emotions and hormones that at times feel outside my control.

Between Deana B. and my mom, I was feeling back on track - sort of, anyway. Later that afternoon, I held my head high, shoulders straight, sunglasses on top of my head, eyes clear, and I entered Joshua's school. First, I asked to speak to the principal. She was excited about my desire to begin a Mom's in Touch Group, saying that they could always use prayer! Then, I asked to speak to the speech therapist again. I looked her straight in the eyes, apologized for falling apart earlier that day, told her I was 100% on board, and asked her to let me know what I could be doing at home to help my little man.

And, as I drove home with my little darling one chattering on in the back of the van, I thought about how difficult it is to be a parent. How difficult it is to love someone so much. How dangerous and unsafe it is to feel so much. And, here I am about to bring another little one into this world. Another little one that I will love beyond my wildest imagination, another little one that will break my heart over and over again each time I see his little heart break.

No, parenting is not for the weak. Earlier that day I doubted the fact that I should ever have become a mother. I am too weak. I can't handle it. But, I was reminded as my sweet Joshua chattered on and on in the backseat about Batman and Wobin, that God didn't expect me to be strong. He doesn't have expectations that my weak little self can't meet. He doesn't mind my weakness. He simply wants to be my strength. And, I need Him, breath by breath, tear by tear, I need Him.

No, parenting is not for the weak. It takes great strength to be a parent. And, I'm not talking about the kind of strength that one can muster up on his or her own. Parenting calls for supernatural strength. The kind of strength that is only available in a daily, walking, committed relationship with the one and only Strength-Giver. I thank God for the verse that says when I am weak, then I am strong because it speaks volumes to this weak vessel. I don't claim to have strength, but I do claim to belong to the Strength-Giver, to find my refuge in Him, my safe strong hiding place.

So, maybe, then parenting is for the weak.

At least, maybe it is for the weak made strong.