I am a mother of three. I believe God gave me 3 because that’s all I can handle. My firstborn is a boy. He is now 12 and like me, he has an old soul. He is caring yet loud and thoughtful yet careless with his words, especially with his brother. He was a tough baby to handle. Cried a lot at night and refused any type of formula. So i raised him with plain ol’milk and diluted apple juice. And eventually food of course. He was also a non-conformist. So raising him took patience and well let’s be honest, meltdowns.
I believe God gave me the second child to test my patience, to slowly shape my own hardened self. It is because he is my son that i can tolerate him losing half pair of shoe at school, i can drive out of my way to work to deliver a forgotten homework or a questionably important piece of paper. Because he is my son, i take the time to repeat any instruction given until he does it, or break down a simple verbal assignment into steps because i noticed he has trouble understanding verbal instructions. I am impatient and judgmental yet because of him i learn to exercise patience, tolerance and forgiveness. Every time he says sorry when i can’t hide my annoyance, i beat myself up. In any case, i see myself in him. There is also the small fact that he looks like me.
I feel like I should write about all 3 of them, but i suddenly lost momentum. Oh well