Moment of Insight in a Rocking Chair

When Em was a brand new being, and my post-pregnancy hormones were still causing me to cry over things like spit-up and blow outs, I had this one exquisite moment that, barring Alzheimer's, I'll never forget.

I was sitting in a rocking chair--an old, wooden rocking chair with a fuzzy red seat, bequeathed to us by a previous landlord. (One day I will own a glider rocking chair, and I will never want for anything again. Maybe). As I soothed newborn Em and rocked slowly forward and back, this thought filled my mind, fully formed and shining with authenticity: "There's nothing more significant I could be doing." 

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A rush of gratitude followed, because what bigger gift can a person receive than to be doing exactly what God wants them to be doing, when he wants them to be doing it, and to have him acknowledge their behavior? Some of my new-mommy malaise left me then, if only briefly.

In my journal, the haven for all my irrationality and theories and memories, I recorded synonyms of the word significant (because the thesaurus is my dearest friend-don't tell the dictionary).
SIGNIFICANT a. consequential, weighty, considerable, meaningful, valuable, momentous, major, vital, critical, crucial

I like all of those words, and I especially like to think about them defining my role as a mother, and the part I play in Em's life.  I am valuable. I am meaningful. I am vital. Even if my baby girl won't have the words or inclination to tell me so until she gives birth to her first child. 

Is it because mothering is so common that it sometimes feels inconsequential? Because there's so much poop involved? Because it doesn't come with a monetary salary? I don't know, for sure. But I know the thought that mothering is unimportant is a distortion. It's more than important. It's crucial. It's weighty. It's significant.