My daughter is 18 days old. On paper it doesn’t sound like long but the truth is I feel like shes been here much longer, mostly because I’m running a 24 hour shift with a few breaks so in mother years she is 36 days old. I knew having a baby would be challenging but like most things in life I counted myself lucky that I had loving support and of course my iron clad will to make it through these tough days. The first 5 days were bliss, Ben was home and we laid around watching movies and talking about how perfect she was. There were challenges but I was still hopped up on adrenaline, hormones, and whatever else they sent home with me from the hospital. Then Ben had to go back to work and Christmas came and she woke up to the world and gave those vocal chords a run for their money. The first week I was convinced I got the only baby that cried only when needed, but after a week filled with awestruck relatives I know that is not true. I realized that not only does she cry but she is like me, she pitches fits when things don’t go her way. The difference is I’m an adult and know better and she is not. The more the days went on the more I saw my flesh, my selfishness, and was once again reminded how much I need my savior.
I thought being a mom would come easy. After all I have a wonderful example for one, two sister in laws who have graciously shared their kids and their experiences, and years working in daycare (in the infant room no less). So becoming a mom didn’t scare me, it should have. While I can deal with the ins and outs of a newborn, diaper changes, feeding, and bathing, I struggle to forget myself in all of this and be the servant God has called me to be in this time of my life. Like all great teachable moments, I have come to realize, through nights of tears, that taking care of a newborn and loving my daughter like Christ loves me are vastly different things. I can take care of her which she very much needs but to truly love her I must forget myself and remember who I live for. I am supposed to be a servant in this life but I have never really had to fully live that out until this season. I must serve her when no one is looking, I must take care of her with no benefit to myself, and I must sacrifice what I want for her good. For someone so filled with sin that is hard.
This morning though as I drink down my allotted cup of coffee I remember that my Savior did that and much more for me, his daughter. He humbled himself and became a servant for his children. I rarely thank him and often when I offer up praise it is generally because I want something in return. I am human in every sense of the word and he is God but he loves me anyway. Not only does he love me but he has blessed with his child whom I get to love and raise so while the nights might be hard and the days can run together I know that being his servant, even in these little ways, truly represent living for him.