My transition into motherhood has been a smooth one. Carson was born without major complications. She’s an impossibly cute little girl. I bounced back from labor and childbirth quickly. Breastfeeding has gone really well. Both Carson and I have been sleeping at night. I feel great. My baby is healthy and growing strong.
And I haven’t done anything special to make it so.
God has been gracious to me and I don’t deserve it.
But, even still, I try to take all the credit.
After a comment like, “You’re doing so well with Carson, she’s beautiful and you’re such a natural.”
I’ll respond by gushing, “O, thank you. I love being a mom. She’s just such a good baby.”
That’s my response. And you guys, I have to be honest. It’s not only a ‘thank you for being so kind’ thank you, it’s also a ‘why, yes, I’ve really got my act together’ thank you. As if I had the ability to heal my body after delivering a nine pound baby. Or have the strength to maintain the relentless pace of mothering a newborn, what with the repetitive feedings and diaper changes. I didn’t collide Carson’s DNA strands in such a way that put just the right amount of fat deposits in her chubby cheeks. Or send off neurons in her brain to tell her when to flash an adorable, toothless grin at just the right time. The LORD has done it. And I’ve been taking the credit. Worse, I’ve been carelessly robbing Him of glory.