Welcome to the World

This is the time of year when we start seeing articles and posts about the value of mothers. One such post I saw several years ago listed all the tasks that a mother does, gave each task a monetary value (such as childcare worker, taxi driver, etc.), and then totaled up the net worth of the mother in the form of an impressive 6-figure annual salary. While these can be amusing, I personally find that such attempts to place a dollar value on motherhood can detract attention from what is really valuable. Maybe because it ignores some of the most difficult and important aspects of motherhood. Lately I've been struggling with how to handle the problem of "sibling martyrdom."  By this I mean that my children at times call me to account for the unconscionable crime of inflicting a sibling upon them: "Why did I have to have a sister?!" "Why did I have to have a brother?!" (I happen to know that I am not alone in this crime; several of my friends are also guilty of having more than one child.) The injustice of having to hear one's sister chew or drink too loudly, or have one's brother touch one's book without permission, can sometimes be too much to bear. Or, perhaps not.

A wise man once said,

It is a good thing for a man to live in a family for the same reason that it is a good thing for a man to be besieged in a city. It is a good thing for a man to live in a family in the same sense that it is a beautiful and delightful thing for a man to be snowed up in a street. They all force him to realize that life is not a thing from the outside, but a thing from inside . . . The modern writers who have suggested that the family is a bad institution have generally confined themselves to suggesting . . . that the family is not always very congenial. Of course, the family is a good institution because it is not congenial. It is wholesome precisely because it contains so many divergencies and varieties. It is, as the sentimentalists say, like a little kingdom, and like most other little kingdoms, is generally in a state of something resembling anarchy . . . The best way that a man could test his readiness to encounter the common variety of mankind would be to climb down a chimney into any house at random, and get on as well as possible with the people inside. And that is essentially what each one of us did on the day that he was born. (G. K. Chesterton, Heretics.)

When a baby is born, she is often greeted with the phrase, "Welcome to the world!" This is a natural sentiment, and it captures the beautiful sense of wonder surrounding the new little human being entering the world. But the phrase also captures the reality that the child is born into this particular family as a microcosm of the world. This port of entry will be the place where she will learn all about mankind. She will learn,

Aunt Elizabeth is unreasonable, like mankind. Papa is excitable, like mankind. Our youngest brother is mischievous, like mankind. Grandpapa is stupid, like the world; he is old, like the world.

Yes, your sister will make annoying noises, like the world. Your brother will say unkind things at times, like the world. Welcome to the world! This is not a reason to do away with the family; the family is the world. To be fair (to my family and to others) I should also say, "Your sister will cheer her lungs out for you at your swim meet, and your brother will take delight in your sweet drawings and notes. So don't despair!"

As a mother, I am learning to see my role as welcoming my children to the world. It is an ongoing task, filled with experiencing joy and wonder, and also learning to navigate pain and difficulty. Teaching children to live in an imperfect world cannot be given a dollar value. But perhaps being given the keys to this little kingdom called the family is a better indication of the great value of motherhood.