My job

My job is hard. And time-consuming. And all-around draining. Messy, dirty, and sometimes disgusting. I very rarely get a whole day off. And really, I will never reach retirement age.

My job is glorious. And all-encompassing. And tears-in-my-eyes joyful. Silly, hopeful, and sometimes a door straight to heaven opens up, right in my home. And really, why would I ever want to retire?

My job is a divine position, part of a perfect plan that stretches across all eternity and all creation.

My job is not unique, nor am I the first person to do it. I know so many who perform the same work, and so many whose professional excellence I admire.

My job doesn't earn my any financial remuneration; in fact, it costs me money more often than not.

My job rewards me in love, in stick-figure drawings and chubby-armed hugs; righteous choices and kind hearts and an ingrained sense of self and self-worth.

My job required years of preparational observation and a jump-into-the-deep-end plunge into on-the-job training that is stamped into both my heart and my sleep pattern.

My job has enlarged me spiritually, mentally, emotionally, and occasionally physically.

I am a mother, and my job will never be done.

There is no higher calling, no more rewarding madness, no sweeter blessing than that of motherhood.

I couldn't ask for a better job.

I still wouldn't mind a day off, here or there.

To Leslie, Bea, Ruth, Marg, Barbara, Merle, Norma, from the bottom of my heart, thank you. To so many other colleagues in the motherhood industry, you inspire me on a momentary basis.