Who Is In Your Village

*Photo credit: PamAndie Photography

My sister. My brother.

My sisters-in-law. My brothers-in-law.

My mom. My dad.

My mother-in-law. My father-in-law.

My Godparents. And people like parents.

Family that isn’t really family.

My sorority sisters. And random girlfriends from all parts of life.

My high school friends.

Past teachers.

Past bosses. And co-workers.

The girls from my dorm floor. And college days. And the Mister’s college friends.

My friends from Texas.

My aunts. My uncles. My cousins.

My neighbors. Friends from church. My pharmacist-turned-friend. Our Pediatrician. The moms I’ve met through other moms. And the moms I meet at swim lessons, music classes, the park, and soccer. The mom who helps me get the door when my hands are full. The mom who has been there, done that, and can share her wisdom. The mom who is real about motherhood. And the moms who blog about it all. And the people who read this very blog and share resounding amen(s).

They say it takes a village. These people, and more, are in my village. And I feel like my village grows daily.

But I’m not talking about the village it takes to raise a child. I’m talking about the village it takes to raise a mother. At least, for this mother.

I’ve said it before, it was not in the carrying of our children that I became a mother. It has been in being a mother to them that they have carried me. Carried me from a person who liked children, all the way to motherhood. And as they’ve brought motherhood into my life, it’s taken a large village along with them, to grow me into their mom. The village that has given me advice, support, love, laughter, joy, tears, and life. My village, at times, has been my life raft. And my sanity. Just what I needed for reassurance. Or for praise. The village of people who create a community where I can become the type of mother my children call me to be.

So who is in your village? Maybe it’s the woman who gave you an understanding glance at Target when your child screamed, “I want e-o’s” through two thirds of your trip. Maybe it’s a cousin who had the same type of babe as you. Maybe it’s a woman who lived your life 35 years before you. Or a woman who tells you they have no idea how you do it. Is it your dad, who texts to see how the kiddos are? Or the old dude at the gas station who calls you super mom? Maybe it’s your Pastor. Or your doc. Or your spouse. And very likely, your own mama. Whosoever it is, I can only hope you have a village of your own. Because I’ve determined, there is no prize for doing it all on your own. Because life is meant to be shared. Because some moments require more than we can give on our own. And others, need to be celebrated. And sometimes, savored, I think. And so by allowing others in, others to be a part of our story, our lives and our identities as mothers, as parents, can be enriched. I believe this to be true… it truly does take a village to make a mother. And I couldn’t be happier to have found my own. And am thankful to have you in it.