Doll Dreams

 His little blond hair is glowing in the sunbeams. It always gives off a bedhead look. Sticking up straight, the length of it is continuing to grow and it’s starting  to cuff over the back of his sweatshirt. 

When did my little baby, that I felt kicking in my stomach at 17 weeks pregnant, become this wannabe toddler, 9 months old, and walking around using objects for help? 

I hear triumphant yells as I look over to see him standing on my side coffee table, throwing first my husband's phone to the ground, then mine. Then he shoves my Parenthood book off the edge (in his attempt to read it, obviously) and begins to pull my bible his way. 

The next moment, he’s on the floor, half standing, half sitting, holding onto his daddy’s leg, and yelling *once again* as he watches the 2026 Winter Olympics. 

When I was growing up, I asked for dolls for my birthday and Christmas and it went on a lot longer than most little girls hold on to their dolls these days. I’d line them up at the end of my bed. Sleep with one on each side of me (the babies of course, because they needed me). My sister and I made little pamphlets with our babies' ages and names and personalities, every year, as we “added more babies to our families.” 

It’s crazy to suddenly have my own real live baby, whose personality is so much bigger than anything I could have made up for in my growing up doll years. And suddenly, I’m not that pro-mama that I obviously just effortlessly was with my 20 babies. I’m a real life human who desperately needs Jesus to face up the task of raising a soul with my husband! 

If you have had little siblings (or obviously your own babies!) , you know the feeling of utter “Wow! This special new baby!” on the day they’re born. It’s surreal when they come home. And then very quickly, it’s normal. You cannot picture life without that sibling. That’s how it is with a baby of your own. Their name becomes the normal among the family names, the personality, the life adapts (sometimes really difficult around getting your own selfish self - or sometimes incredibly naturally), and it all feels so - normal? 

Looking back, I cannot believe how little and fragile he was. I know in the future, I’ll look back to now and miss his little self so much. But I don’t think I’ll ever want to go back, because each stage is so much better. There are challenges. Frustrations. But there are also things that get better from previous frustrations and their little personality and development is just the cutest thing that keeps you on your toes. 

Unfortunately, all my years of doll years did not prepare me to be a mom. 

Being an older sister with younger baby siblings, I guess you learn some baby basics and tendencies. 

Being a mother’s helper and nanny, yes. But none of these truly call you to fully pull from yourself and your own space, to be totally 24/7, or fully responsible for a child’s knowledge of the world and who God is. You can do lots of little moments of these beforehand but nothing will prepare you for it until you enter it. And it’s just the beginning for all the roles to follow. 

I wish I could tell my past self:

 Be slower to be confident that you can do this - on your own. 

 Be slower to think “Well, I will never do, a, b, and c, with my kid.” 

 Don’t  listen to the lies that motherhood robs you of opportunities

 Don’t put your identity in being a wife and a mother but a daughter of Christ foremost - those roles are only stabilized if you’re stabilized in Him first. 

The list goes on. And I’m sure I could update it every five years. Until then, here is to the more joyful sanctification of being a mother -  when moments of pure sweetness or silly goofiness cause the comedic relief you are desperately needing in your life - or their little world reminds you there are other things in this world than your own thoughts and desires.