Crusty Meat Loaf

I knew that I had finally made it as a mom when I took the burnt, crusty part of the meat loaf for myself and served the better portions to my family.

I knew I was a mom when my two youngest sons would wrestle on the floor and scream at each other in a restaurant, and I'd sit there calmly acting like it happened every single day of my life. Oh yeah, it did!

I knew I was a mom when I sat on the metal bench in 105 degree weather without shade to watch my child skip around the bases.

I knew I was a mom when I'd be the only one up at 3:00 in the morning, peering out the windows to see if an adult child's car had pulled up in the driveway yet.

I knew I was a mom when my child drew a picture of me getting out of the shower -- anatomically correct, by the way -- to show at the Mother's Tea at school.

I knew I was a mom when I could walk down the hall in my church, hear a baby screaming in the nursery, and recognize that screaming child as mine.

I knew I was a mom when I'd holler at the ceiling to the upstairs bedrooms, "You don't want me to come up there!!"

I knew I was a mom when everyone else left the hospital to go home and sleep and I still sat there with my child.

I knew I had arrived as a mom when it seemed that I spent the better part of my day and evening praying for my children.

Yep, I've finally made it. And what did those kids do? They grew up ... moved out and moved on ... started families, careers, and lives of their own.

As for me, I still eat the crusty part of the meat loaf because I've learned to prefer it. I still wake up at 3:00 in the morning, but now it's to go to the bathroom. I can't help peeking out the window still at that time though. The habit is too engrained. And I continue to pray -- pray, pray, pray for my children.

It's what we moms do ...