What Makes a Nurturing Mother?
Okay, so I’m sitting here at 11:47 PM because this is literally the only quiet time I get to think, let alone write. Jared’s finally asleep after asking me seventeen questions about whether fish have dreams, and baby Maddie is doing that thing where she sleeps for exactly 45 minutes before deciding she needs to practice her vocal skills at full volume.
Someone asked me the other day what makes a “good mom” and honestly? I laughed. Like, actually snorted. Because I spent most of today bribing my 8-year-old to put on pants and trying to convince myself that the crusty cheerios stuck to my shirt were a fashion statement.
But then I got to thinking. What DOES make a nurturing mother? Because despite the chaos and the fact that I haven’t had a hot cup of coffee in approximately six months, my kids seem pretty happy. Jared still runs to hug me when he gets off the school bus, and Maddie lights up when she sees my face (even when it’s 3 AM and I look like I’ve been hit by a truck).
So here’s what I’ve figured out, in between loads of laundry and existential crises in the Target parking lot.
Just Show Up. Even When You Don’t Want To.
Last Tuesday was rough. Like, really rough. I was running on maybe two hours of sleep because Maddie decided she needed to party all night. Jared woke up grumpy because his favorite shirt was dirty. I burned the toast. We were late for school. Again.
But you know what? I still showed up. I still made him breakfast (okay, it was a pop-tart, but it had strawberry filling so that’s basically fruit, right?). I still listened when he told me about the weird dream where dinosaurs ate his homework. I still told him I loved him when I dropped him off, even though I was wearing yesterday’s clothes and probably smelled like spit-up.
That’s the thing nobody tells you about being nurturing – it’s not about being perfect. It’s about showing up consistently, even when you feel like you’re failing at everything.
My friend Sarah gave me this mom devotional book last year and I’m pretty sure I’ve only read it in bathroom hiding sessions, but there’s this one line that stuck: “Your presence is your present.”
Listen. Even When It’s About Pokemon. Again.
Oh my God, the Pokemon conversations. If I had a dollar for every time Jared has explained the difference between Pikachu and Raichu, I could probably afford a babysitter for a whole evening.
But here’s the weird thing – when I actually listen (like, really listen, not just nod while mentally planning dinner), these conversations matter. Not because Pokemon is important, but because HE thinks it’s important. And when something matters to my kid, it matters to me.
Last week he was upset because his friend Tyler said Pokemon was “for babies.” Instead of dismissing it with “well Tyler’s wrong,” I asked how that made him feel. Turns out it wasn’t really about Pokemon at all – it was about feeling embarrassed about liking something when other kids don’t.
We ended up having this amazing conversation about how it’s okay to like different things and how real friends don’t make you feel bad about what you enjoy. Way better than my original plan of telling him Tyler clearly doesn’t know what he’s talking about because Charizard is awesome.
With Maddie, listening looks different. She can’t tell me about her day obviously, but she tells me things in other ways. Her different cries (yes, they ARE different, despite what my mother-in-law says). The way she kicks her legs when she’s excited. How she gets fussy right around 6 PM every day like clockwork.
I got this baby tracker app thinking it would help me figure out her patterns, but honestly? Just paying attention worked better than any app.
Mess Up. Apologize. Try Again.
Two weeks ago, I completely lost it. Jared was dawdling getting ready for school (shocking, I know), Maddie was crying because she’s going through some kind of growth spurt and wants to eat constantly, and I was trying to pack lunches while bouncing her and nagging him about his backpack.
Then he spilled orange juice. All over the kitchen counter. All over his clean clothes. All over my last nerve.
I yelled. Like, really yelled. About orange juice. I immediately felt terrible because his little face just crumpled and he started crying too.
So I stopped everything, sat down on the kitchen floor (which was sticky with orange juice), and apologized. “Buddy, I’m sorry I yelled. I was frustrated about being late, but that’s not your fault. Orange juice spills. It happens.”
He climbed into my lap (getting us both even stickier) and said, “It’s okay Mom. Sometimes I yell when I’m frustrated too.”
We were late to school that day, but we hugged it out and I learned that my kid is way more understanding than I give him credit for. The How to Talk So Kids Will Listen book my sister recommended talks about this – kids need to see that adults mess up too, and that we can fix our mistakes.
Create Routines That Actually Work for Your Life
Pinterest moms, I see you with your color-coded chore charts and your perfectly organized playrooms. I’m happy for you. Truly. But my life looks nothing like that, and you know what? That’s okay.
Our routines are… flexible. Dinner happens somewhere between 5 and 7 PM depending on whether Maddie is having a meltdown, whether Jared remembered he has a project due tomorrow, and whether I remembered to take something out of the freezer.
But we do have some things that work. Saturday morning pancakes (from the box because I’m not Martha Stewart). Reading together every night, even if it’s just one page because someone is tired and cranky. And our “good things” tradition where we each share one good thing from our day at dinner.
Jared’s good things range from “I found a really cool stick at recess” to “Mom didn’t burn the grilled cheese today.” Kid keeps me humble.
The bentgo lunch box has been a game changer for school lunches though. I can pack it the night before when my brain is still semi-functional, instead of trying to figure out what constitutes a balanced meal at 7 AM.
Let Them Be Independent (Even When It’s Painful)
This is probably the hardest part for me. Watching Jared struggle with something when I know I could just fix it for him goes against every mom instinct I have.
But I’m learning. Slowly.
Last month he couldn’t figure out a math problem and was getting frustrated. My first instinct was to show him how to do it. Instead, I said, “What do you think the first step might be?” We worked through it together, with him doing the actual work and me just asking questions.
It took three times longer than if I’d just done it for him, but the proud smile on his face when he figured it out? Worth every painful minute of watching him struggle.
With Maddie, independence looks like letting her have tummy time even when she’s fussing a little, or giving her a few minutes to see if she can settle herself back to sleep before I rush in.
I bought some Montessori toys that are supposed to encourage independent play. Jury’s still out on whether they’re worth the money, but she does seem to enjoy chewing on them.
Take Care of Yourself (Even Though You’ll Feel Guilty)
This one is hard. So hard. Because there’s always something else that needs to be done, someone else who needs something, and taking time for yourself feels selfish.
But here’s what I’ve learned: when I’m running on empty, everyone suffers. I’m impatient with Jared. I’m stressed about everything. I cry over stupid things like running out of milk.
So I started small. Really small. Like, taking five minutes to drink my coffee while it’s still hot kind of small. Calling my sister while I fold laundry. Taking a shower that lasts longer than thirty seconds.
My mom watches the kids one Saturday morning a month so I can get groceries alone. And yes, I consider grocery shopping alone to be self-care now. This is my life.
The self-care for exhausted moms book talks about this – how we can’t pour from an empty cup. It sounds cliché but it’s true. When I take care of myself, even in tiny ways, I’m a better mom.
Make Traditions That Don’t Require a Pinterest Board
Our family traditions are not Instagram-worthy. They’re not color-coordinated or particularly creative. But they’re ours.
We have “special dinner” on Fridays, which usually means takeout pizza and watching a movie together. Jared gets to pick the movie, which means I’ve seen The Incredibles approximately forty-seven times.
We read together every night. Right now we’re working through the Junie B. Jones books because Jared thinks she’s hilarious. Sometimes Maddie sits with us and tries to eat the pages, which adds an element of excitement to story time.
On Sunday mornings, we all pile into my bed and just hang out. Jared brings his latest drawing or Lego creation to show us. Maddie practices her rolling skills. I try to convince myself that the laundry can wait another hour.
These aren’t grand gestures or elaborate activities. They’re just small ways of being together regularly, and somehow they’ve become the things Jared talks about most.
Embrace the Chaos
I used to think good moms had their stuff together. Clean houses, organized schedules, kids who always matched.
Then I had kids.
Now I realize that having your stuff together is overrated. Some of our best moments happen in the chaos. Like when Jared decides to “help” by reorganizing my kitchen cabinets while I’m feeding Maddie, and I come back to find every pot and pan stacked in an elaborate tower in the living room.
Or when we’re running late for school and Jared can’t find his other shoe, so he wears rain boots with shorts and declares it’s his “new style.”
These moments used to stress me out. Now I try to laugh about them (most of the time). Because perfect families don’t exist, but happy families? Those are everywhere, even when they’re wearing mismatched shoes and eating cereal for dinner.
Trust Your Gut
Everyone has opinions about how you should raise your kids. Everyone. Your mom, your mother-in-law, the lady at the grocery store, random people on the internet.
But here’s the thing – you know your kids better than anyone else. You know that Jared needs extra time to process changes. You know that Maddie sleeps better when she’s swaddled tightly. You know what works for your family, even if it doesn’t look like what works for other families.
I spent way too much time in the beginning trying to follow every piece of advice I got. Sleep training, feeding schedules, developmental milestones – I stressed about all of it.
Now I listen to advice, take what’s helpful, and ignore the rest. My kids are fed, loved, and reasonably happy most of the time. That’s what matters.
The What to Expect books are helpful for general guidelines, but every kid is different. Jared walked at 9 months and didn’t talk until he was almost 2. Maddie is already trying to sit up at 6 months but shows zero interest in rolling over. They’ll do things when they’re ready.
It’s Okay to Not Love Every Minute
Can we talk about this? Because I’m so tired of people telling me to “enjoy every minute” because “it goes so fast.”
Some minutes suck. The 3 AM feeding when you’re so tired you put the diaper on backwards. The grocery store meltdown over the wrong kind of crackers. The fortieth time your 8-year-old asks “why” in response to every answer you give.
I don’t have to love every minute to be a good mom. I can acknowledge that some parts of parenting are hard and boring and frustrating while still being grateful for my kids and loving them fiercely.
The good minutes are amazing. When Jared randomly hugs me and says “I love you, Mom” for no reason. When Maddie smiles at me like I’m the most wonderful thing she’s ever seen. When we’re all laughing about something silly and I think, “This. This is what it’s all about.”
But the hard minutes are part of it too, and pretending they don’t exist doesn’t make me more nurturing – it makes me dishonest.
What It Really Comes Down To
So what makes a nurturing mother? After eight years of this wild ride, I think it comes down to this: showing up with love, even when you don’t have your act together.
It’s not about having the perfect playroom or making Pinterest-worthy lunches or never losing your temper. It’s about creating a home where your kids feel safe to be themselves – messy, loud, curious, sometimes impossible selves.
It’s Jared knowing he can tell me when he’s scared without me trying to fix it immediately. It’s Maddie learning that when she needs something, someone who loves her will respond (even at 3 AM when that someone is stumbling around in the dark cursing under her breath).
Right now, as I’m finishing this up, I can hear Maddie starting to fuss through the monitor. In a few minutes, I’ll go pick her up and we’ll start our middle-of-the-night routine again. And tomorrow, Jared will wake up full of energy and questions and probably wearing those same pajamas he’s been wearing for three days straight because he declares them his “favorites.”
And you know what? I’ll show up for all of it. Not perfectly, not with complete patience, definitely not with matching clothes. But I’ll show up with love and coffee and the determination to keep figuring this thing out one day at a time.
Because that’s what nurturing mothers do – we keep showing up, even when we’re tired, even when we don’t have all the answers, even when our hair looks like we stuck our finger in an electrical socket.
And somehow, that’s enough. We’re enough.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, someone needs me. And tomorrow, someone will need me again. And I’ll be there, probably with cheerios stuck to my shirt and love in my heart, ready for whatever chaos and joy the day brings.
What does nurturing motherhood look like in your house? I bet it’s messier and more beautiful than you think.
