I admit, I doubt myself a lot. I feel inadequate the majority of the time. I compare myself to others way too often.
I watch other stay-at-home moms who somehow manage to keep clean houses, raise well-adjusted children, sign those same children up for extra-curricular activities like dance, soccer, gymnastics, t-ball, etc, and even take on leadership roles in church and in community organizations. I admit to a tinge of jealousy now and then.
The dust-bunnies that line the walls of my house rarely get swept up. Cracker crumbs, Cheerios, toys and puzzle pieces continually jab me in the rear when I sit on our couch cushions. My kids are hardly ever without a ring of peanut butter or jelly around their mouths or crusted on their cheeks. None of our kids are signed up for the local community soccer league (though that's on our to-do list for the Fall).
I gain a sense of accomplishment every time I get a sticky-sweet kiss smeared across my cheek as my son pulls himself onto my lap. "I love you, Mommy, I love you," he lisps. When my daughter brings home artwork from school that says, "Jordyn lovs Mommy yur the best," and I insist on hanging it on the fridge front and center, I feel like I've done something right. When my toddler buries her head on my shoulder, just mine, no one else will do, and nuzzles my neck in sleepy contentment, I'm pretty sure there's still a few things I'm doing well.
I may not be the Martha Stewart of the stay-at-home-mom world, but my kids are well-loved. My home, while not the cleanest specimen of domestic art, is at least livable. I don't run from one organization to another, but I have a job I love using my imagination to spin a tale or two and God has blessed me with a wonderful publisher. I have a church I believe in and a husband who supports me and loves me for who I am, despite my many quirks.
I feel like George Bailey, who's just had a run-in with Clarence, the Angel Second Class. I do have a wonderful life.