Becoming Jane

I think everyone has that someone that they always call to ask questions of; the person they immediately look to for advice, for their thoughts on a decision or topic; or, the person they think of first (after their husband, of course) with whom to share a funny anecdote or particularly irritating life event because you know they'll just "get it" exactly the way it is supposed to be gotten.

My person is Jane. She's a mother of three (and one in heaven) and is a little older (OK, a lot older. incredibly, way, totally older. eons older. heh heh) and very much wiser. Even though she likes Lifeteen Masses, she is actually on the same page as I am 98.8 percent of time - after all, no one's perfect, right?

She is pretty Catholic crunch-tastic, had her last child at home, was my doula for Boyo's birth and introduced me to the idea of co-sleeping. In fact, we met because I emailed her after finding her on the list of local NFP teaching couples in Los Angeles. Then, before our NFP class, we ended up meeting because she was on the interview panel for the youth ministry job I was applying for. As she sat there, nursing her baby (who is now 6 years old. *gasp*), we realized we'd already internet "met" and our friendship began.

Between being our NFP teaching couple, ahead of us in childbearing (although they haven't beat us yet!) and crunchy Catholic to boot, she is the natural person to whom to turn anytime I want to talk about homeschooling, cool Advent crafts or have questions about anything as TMI as postpartum issues or as mundane as how to get your kid to stop begging to watch "his shows" every. single. minute of the day.

Really, she's a gem.

Then, the other day, I realized something - I'm becoming Jane.

Over the past two weeks, I have had more than one person email or call to ask me questions about various interests of mine - natural childbirth, cloth diaper stuff, parenting this and that - simply because they valued and respected my opinion on something, because they had decided I had knowledge and experience in the matter.

Wow, I thought to myself, I'm their Jane.

Needless to say, I was insanely flattered. Me? Little me? Someone wants to know what I think? It made me feel pretty good; not in a big-headed, peacock strut, kind of way, but more in a quiet, warm deep in your heart kind of way. I know how much I admire, trust and look up to my own Jane and to think that someone thought that well of me was, frankly, a blessing.

Being Jane for someone else was a little tiny post-it note from God that said:

Thanks for doing what I've set before you. Keep up the good work.

Just the pick-me-up a poopy diaper changing, little sleep getting Mama needed.