A few weeks ago in Sunday school class we were wrapping things up and discussing having babies and how long you should keep them home after birth. The story goes something like this...Ramzee was born on a Monday and I took her to church on Sunday...6 days later. I made the remark, "She was our fourth child...I was ready to get out of the house." It was then that one of the other members of our class looked at me and said, "You do realize that the oldest 2 aren't yours, right?" Gasp! (For those who aren't familiar, I have 2 step children) My answer to him in that moment, "Yes they are!" He got me thinking though...
Here is a man who has known me since before I had my driver's license. He was a volunteer in my youth group when I was growing up. He witnessed the controversy when I chose to marry Ole Jus when I was only 19 years old...a man who had 2 kids and an ex-wife. He has seen me bring those kids to church alone some days when Ole Jus was working. He has watched as "our" oldest kids were confirmed and baptized in our sanctuary and I stood with them. He has received Christmas cards from our family that include those 2 that "aren't really mine". He has watched our family grow from 4 to 6 over the last eleven years, and can still look me in the eye and tell me that "those kids aren't mine".
Today OUR oldest turns 17. This is her twelfth birthday I have been able to celebrate with her. I regret terribly that I missed the first 5. Justin and I started dating the same month she turned 6. She was in Kindergarten when she threw flower petals (at the guests instead of on the floor) before I walked down the aisle. I watched her learn to read. I sat on the bed and said prayers with her at bedtime. I've watched as she crashed her bicycle. I witness her gagging and vomiting when she had to take medicine. I've washed and fixed that pretty blonde hair more times than I can count. I have made her so many mashed potatoes they could probably fill the Grand Canyon... and I don't even cook. We've done school projects together. I've asked her to clean her room a thousand times. We've gone to concerts, movies and events together. I wash her sheets and towels and clothes. I designed a special place for her in our new home when we built 2 years ago. We have sang in church together a few times, paling in comparison to the number of duets we have performed in the car. I've cried when she was upset or hurt. I've held her when she was sick. I have prayed for her future husband that she may have not even met yet. I have prayed for her to follow God's plan for her life and I plan to be around a long time to witness her reap the benefits of a life lived in service to Him.
When she is at our house, I am the mom. I love that little girl with every fiber of my being. I love her like she is my very own daughter. However, I will never be her mom. I have given her all of my heart and look at her as one of my very own, but I won't sit in the Mother-of-the-Bride seat at her wedding. I will always get the most important information via Ole Jus. She won't call me first the day she finds out she is pregnant. I will be there when she gives birth, but I won't be one of the first people to hold that grandbaby.
I am not her mom, but she is and always will be my oldest daughter. No matter what anyone says.
I will never be her number one, and I'm OK with that, but for the rest of my lifetime she will always be my first...HAPPY BIRTHDAY CAITLYN...FROM THIS SIDE OF THIRTY.
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