The Motherhood Shift

I remember the day like it was yesterday. Nearly thirty years ago, after five long, hopeful, and sometimes heartbreaking years, I stared at that little stick, barely breathing.

Positive.

It was my honor then, and my privilege still, to be a mother. 

I’m not sure there’s anything else in the world quite like it. Being a mother stretches your heart in ways you didn’t know were possible. The pride in their accomplishments, the peace when they’re content, the quiet joy when they push through something hard. It’s a job that demands everything - patience, sacrifice, and deep unconditional love. 

Remember the times when you’d place your baby in a car seat on the bathroom floor so they could stay safe while you took a shower? And then escaping to that same bathroom to be alone for five minutes years later? 

Motherhood isn’t glamorous. You function on very little sleep, throw your hair in a ponytail every day, and wear clothes that always seem to have a stain.

It’s wondering how something so small can create so much laundry.

It’s a house that never quite stays clean and dinners that sometimes happen in the car between one activity and the next.

It’s spending years teaching them to walk and talk, and then wishing they’d sit down and be quiet later on.

It’s learning math all over again, which seems like a cruel punishment because learning it the first time wasn’t fun either. 

It’s reliving the angst of middle school through their eyes and coaching them through it.

And it’s spending every waking night after dinner helping with homework and every waking minute on the weekends at sporting events.

But it’s also a love that changes you and makes you a better person.

And it’s the best job in the world. I say “job” intentionally, because it is work.

Now that my adult daughter has flown the nest, the “job” isn’t necessarily over. It’s shifted.

The full-time, around-the-clock role has given way to something more part-time. I’m no longer needed for every decision, every ride, every reminder. Independence has taken over—and that’s exactly how it’s supposed to be. After all, the goal was always to raise her to stand on her own two feet.

In this new phase, I find time for hobbies, dusted off from years kept on a shelf. I meet friends for long walks or meals where conversations don’t get interrupted. The pace is different now.

But some things haven’t changed.

The worry? That’s permanent. It just comes with the job.

And when we do spend time together, it’s intentional. Meaningful. We’re not rushing from one thing to the next—we’re simply enjoying each other’s company. The love, the pride, the joy… it’s all still there. If anything, it’s a little deeper.

The job isn’t gone—it’s just evolved. Fewer hours, fewer emergencies, and far less direct supervision.

But the title?
That doesn’t go away.

Whether she’s under my roof or building a life of her own, motherhood has been—and will always be—a gift I treasure.