If you know me, or rather know me well, you'll know my plan was to become a writer. Not just write in my spare time and call my hobby "writing", but rather have a desk at a job that actually pays me to write for them. I wanted to be known for my work, and possibly even have a pen name.
The plan was to live in New York, and only come home for the holidays. I'd live alone, and decorate any way I wanted because I was the only one I had to answer to.
Then, out of absolutely no where, during a trip to Florida, the total unexpected happened. Jon walked back into my life. He was my first relationship, my first love and my first heartbreak. He walked back into my life as simply as he had walked out 3 years before. I NEEDED to be with him again. I felt it in the depths of my very being that I HAD to be with him. I was nervous to trust again, and after making him wait a few months, we were back together.
Add in a few years together, a beautiful wedding, a difficult deployment, facing so many negative forces, learning to be adults, living on our own far away from anything familiar and finding our path for our marriage - it was a crash course in "life".
Fast forward to what this post is actually supposed to be about. My sister told me I was pregnant. You read that right. I didn't know. Honest to God the only thing I can actually say looking back is I was so tired around Christmas and on New Years Eve when I tried to have a glass of wine, it tasted horrid. By the 3rd of January, I found out I was pregnant. From that minute, even thinking about my child in day care - this little embryo - terrified me. Jonathon and I talked for a long time before deciding I'd stay home with our child. It was thought out, calculated, discussed and discussed some more.
My plan for my life had already fallen apart by marrying a military man. I loved the new plan. But now, the old plan was a million miles away from my reach. I'd be a stay at home mom - the very thing I didn't want right away. Yet, I couldn't imagine the other option - saying goodbye to my perfect child each morning and missing their day. Let me say, there is NOTHING wrong with working mothers. I think it's amazing to juggle so many hats in the family. However, it wasn't for me. I play the guilt card far too often and I knew it'd eat me alive to not be with my baby for every minute.
Even on hard days, I wouldn't trade it. All the stigma of staying at home is still there in the world, but I can say with a glad heart that this is best for my child, and for our family. There are days I think about my cute, tiny New York apartment, but it doesn't even kind of compare to looking into Jackson's face each morning knowing he's my teammate in life. He is my helper, and my dose of what's good in the world.
I came into being a stay at home mom really nervous. Now, I really love serving my family - more than I ever could have imagined. I take pride in Jackson's manners, how much he enjoys reading and that he still wants to hold my hand as he falls asleep.
I enjoy that my husband can come home from work with a massive basket of dirty work clothes, and leaves with a pile of fresh ones. I enjoy cooking meals I know he'll love or picking up the necessities he needs. I like that he can call me during the day and ask me to handle something he just can't get to, or doesn't know how to do.
For some women, the term "serving" may be outdated or possibly even offensive. By serving my family, I'm also serving God. I'm preparing my son to be a man of God and a future husband and father. I want to enjoy the ONE childhood he gets. I need to pack so much into these precious years. If that means that my old dreams stay just that, then I'll be ok. Because you know what? My life is full.
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