Typically, a blueprint for any design or formation provides clear boundaries, dimensions, and timelines so we know exactly what to do to achieve the desired result.

However, the blueprint for motherhood—the most complex endeavor of any other on earth—does no such thing. It does, though, supply a tsunami of biochemical reactions and key mechanisms that keep us perpetually vigilant and help us discern what’s best.

Photo by Aditya Romasa from Unsplash.

The blueprint for motherhood is rolled out deep below the surface. Even before the baby is born, extraordinary renovations to the woman’s already spectacular composition are made.

Strange new rooms, hallways, and attics in areas of her brain that control joy, fear, empathy, and attentiveness are forged and lit up like galaxy stars going supernova.

Then when her child is first placed into her arms, surges of love and cuddle hormones so fierce they’ve been known to take out entire coastal regions rush in. Speaking from personal experience, she’s never the same again. Her heart will forevermore reside outside herself.

It’s all part of a wondrously divine process to ensure our species survives.

That’s all super great, but without a map, I still often feel like that mama and papa goose I saw at the park the other day looking like nomads with no honking idea how to get back to the lake.

Like you, I want nothing more than for my children to be happy and healthy and to grow into independent, kind-hearted, gracious, social conscience adults. But how do I know if I’m providing enough or the right kind of guidance to help them get there?

What’s the best way to handle this? I wonder countless times throughout the week.

A few examples: 

• When I find water bottles in gym bags, even though they’ve been reminded 83 trillion times to take them out and rinse them.

• When I attempt conversation in the car and all I get in return are shoulder shrugs or microscopic phrases such as “Uh huh.” “I don’t know.”  “Maybe.”

• When someone is out with friends and not texting me back.

• When someone asks if they can skip confirmation class because they have “a ton” of homework.

• When someone wants to do something, and I don’t think they’re ready. Or they want to drop out of something, and I’m worried they’re going to regret it.

• And, of course, when they’re dealing with all that tenuous teenage friendship stuff.

I realize some of those are lightweight dilemmas compared to the more private doozies that come our way. But all the teaching moments add up, and what’s right for one child’s framework might not be right for another.

Although the blueprint for motherhood doesn’t sketch it all out for us, it does provide one of the most powerful mechanisms in the history of humanity—mother’s intuition.

Mother’s intuition is that sixth sense, that stirring, that uneasiness in your gut as though your body is trying to tell you something. It often defies logic or what everyone else thinks you should do. But when we don’t dismiss it or don’t get talked out of it, it’s been known to erupt into colorful ideas and solutions no one else has thought of yet. In more dire situations, it’s even saved lives.

And it’s one more reason you’re a force to be reckoned with.

You know your child better than anyone else:

♥ You’re the one who aches, cries, prays, cheers, and rejoices for them.

♥ You’re the one who was there for their first steps and gave them the courage on their first day of school.

♥ You’re the one who reached up and grabbed spiders on their bedroom ceiling with wads of toilet paper before tucking them in at night.

♥ You’re the one doing everything in your power to ensure they don’t catch a cold, crack their heads, drown, freeze, get lost, overheated, sunburned, kidnapped, or deficient in calcium, iron, Vitamin C, D, E and B12.

♥ You’re the one leaning forward (or closing your eyes) trying not to look like a nervous wreck when they’re up to bat or at the free-throw line.

♥ You’re the one who notices looks on their faces that tell you whether things went well or something is off.

♥ You’re the one who knows Teen#1 is due for a dental appointment, Teen#2 needs paperclips for his engineering class project, and Teen #3 will only eat spaghetti sauce from a jar if it’s organic.

In other words, you got this!

There is nobody on this earth more richly and deeply qualified to guide your hormone-riddled sea otters through this part of their voyage than you. Despite many days feeling insufficient or depleted, the values you’ve been busting your butt trying to model and instill will forever be integral to their design and formation.

Like my mama once said: “They all sprout up pretty good despite our clutzing around.”

I’m Julie Jo Severson, mom to three, freelance writer, editor, author of Secret Twin Cities, and co-author of HERE IN THE MIDDLE: Stories of Love, Loss, and Connection from the Ones Sandwiched in Between. 

This blog, Carvings on a Desk, is where I reconnect with my own voice swirling around in the middle. Read other recent stories.

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