Many people feel passionate about achieving certain things before they die. Some may even claim they feel called by God to do something. Though working in the field of journalism is something I absolutely love to do, I don’t think it’s quite my purpose here on Earth. As cheesy and 1950’s as it may sound, I’ve felt very strongly as long as I can remember that God created me to be a wife and a mother. But it’s weird, because it makes no sense when I look inside myself. If another twentysomething woman told me she was raised by a single mom with an absent father like mine, I’d assume she’d end up a crazy feminist who carried illegal knives etched with abstract man hatred and shouted obscenities at her uterus each month. “What’s this? Bleeding again? Curse you, weakling!” But somehow, despite being brought up in a broken home exposed to limited examples of healthy marriage, God has molded my heart to be one that bursts with the idea of falling asleep between my sweet husband and child(ren).
August 1, 2009, I married Dan and fulfilled one of the two big callings God has for me in my life. Monday will bring about six months of marriage, and I can honestly say it gets better everyday. I wish I had a camera attached to my brain to capture each little moment of our life together. Each morning I wake to his sleepy face… each squabble that sheds light on an unfamiliar quirk one of us possesses… each chatty dinner in front of Jeopardy… they’re all manifestations of fresh blessings given to me each day. And at the risk of sounding like a pubescent teen with a crush, it’s totally rad.
While we’ve “agreed” on waiting awhile before we start trying for calling number two (read: I say 5 years, he says 3) we’ve been prompted to have many pre-pregnancy conversations on account of a tidal wave of pregnant people in our inner circle. And after much discussion, thought, and prayer, we’ve come to the decision that when we crossover into parenthood, we want to be in a place so that I can be a stay-at-home mom.
Did you know that in the UK, a woman can have up to 18 months maternity leave? That’s incredible! Comparatively, maternity leave in America is (in my opinion) a sick joke that usually ranges between four and eight weeks. If you ask me, that hardly counts. I went out to dinner with my good friend Ashley and her six-week-old baby Kylin last week, and seeing them together struck a chord in my heart. I thought about my life as mom down the road, and I couldn’t imagine those short weeks flying by and having to go back to work and leave my baby with someone else. Ashley is very blessed as she is a self-employed photographer who works from home. And if life goes the way I want it to, I’d love to be able to do that. I want to be able to still be a journalist and a stay-at-home mom. While I can’t produce the evening news from home, I’d love to be able to write a column from home, or something of the like. A few years down the road, I’ll have a heart to heart with a good friend/mentor of mine (the EP at our station) and see if there is any way I can make that happen.
Of course, that’s all in God’s hands, not mine.
So, surprise! My life does not revolve around news. Contrary to popular belief, journalists love. Journalists have emotions. Journalists actually feel things.
Well, this one does.