We start as girls. Girls who are told they can be whatever they want to be. A doctor, a lawyer, a scientist, the president. A teacher, an artist, a writer, a business owner.
The sky's the limit! So we plug through school learning what we are supposed to learn, setting goals, making decisions, submitting applications, getting accepted and continuing on down that path.
And along that path somewhere a boy steps in. And smiles. And we smile back. And soon enough along that path come wedding bells. And now the path is less lonely.
And we continue on down that path towards our goals and begin making plans, and putting in more applications and getting a job and loving our job and spending weekends with the love of our life. Planning for the next career move and moving along the path as planned.
And then there is a baby. A beautiful baby growing in our tummy. And we don't know what on earth to expect. Because we've never done this before. Even if it was a part of the plan. Kind of.
But all our planning and all our education doesn't tell us what to do here. It doesn't tell us if we should keep on down the path we started on or try a new path. Or try to merge the two paths seamlessly. (And after all that education, our instinct seems to have taken a back seat.)
And even if we chose to continue down the path we originally planned, something's changed. Even if this baby has good care when mommy is away, mommy is torn. Constantly. Missing something.
And if mommy forsakes that previous path and chooses the baby over all else, something nags at her--loudly or ever so quietly depending on the mommy. Like she didn't finish something she started. Or she didn't keep commitments she made. Even if she just made them to herself.
And if mommy tries to merge the two paths seamlessly, she soon realizes that anything involving children is not seamless. There's always something--an appointment, a fever, a cold, a crying baby in the middle of the otherwise perfectly planned day. (Ever tried to get three moms together? Even if each of them only have two kids?)
With women, any time there seems to be a groove, it's generally upended by a child.
We are the mommies. It's our job. Our calling. Nobody does our job like we do. And somehow along the path that most girls end up on, that important fact is left out. Forgotten until it's staring us in the face.
It's the problem with women. We've forgotten our calling and we forget to tell our girls it will be their calling, too.
Dear society, mommies have very important jobs. More important than doctors and lawyers and scientists and the president. More important than the teacher, artist, writer or business owner. All of them have a mommy. And without that person, they would be nothing.
Maybe women aren't the problem after all.
Or maybe we are.
After four kids, ten moves and nearly two decades, we are still blissfully in love (most of the time) and I found myself back in the state I was born and raised in. It has definitely been a journey. In fact, on our 18th anniversary we pulled the last of our stuff up over the pass and into Montana, leaving our surprise love, Idaho, behind. But Montana is a great place. The last best place according to some. And we fully intend to explore as much of it as we can! Join us on our continued adventure through life, love and other stuff that comes with it.