Happy Mother's Day!
Ok, so the grocery store flower pot hasn't arrived via a beaming child yet but you've thought about what your day will be like, right? Perhaps you'll sleep in and awake to a warm breakfast in bed, then a leisurely stroll through a local trail. You'll get to hear the birds sing their songs of happiness and feel the dappled sunshine on your back...
Wait! Reality. If your mother's day is anything like the 2 that I've already experienced you know that this fantasy will stay just that this Sunday, a fantasy. A dream to be lived out when you get a housekeeper, a nanny, a personal chef, a weather control machine... oh yeah, and a separate house for yourself so you can sleep in. Or just sleep.
As for my third Mother's Day, I expect it will be quite indistinguishable from any other Sunday. I'll wake up at 7:00 am to a very happy and very hungry young man. Shortly after the bottle has been gulped down but before the Cheerios have been consumed then the coffee that I made myself will be done brewing. I'll pour a warm mug and then head up the stairs to get the other young man in my life. This one won't be quite as happy and a battle over chocolate soy milk versus vanilla soy milk will ensue. Someone will win and Hershey's stock will go up just a bit. The day will continue ad nauseam. Naps will commence, arguments and temper tantrums will ensue. I will make an acceptably edible dinner and probably fold some laundry. And all day it will be Mother's Day.
What is this supposed to mean to me? To my husband? It means nothing to my children as they're too young to begin to grasp a concept as foreign as every single day not being solely dedicated to their pleasure and enjoyment.
Am I meant to relish my children all day? I do delight in my children every day but I certainly don't gush over them constantly. In fact sometimes I outright ignore them. I have never made a secret of the tribulations that I have experienced with my transition to motherhood. My first son, Killian, was born almost 3 years ago and he came home a colicky and finicky little infant. He cried when I would turn on the bedroom light, when I set him down, when I bathed him, when he breathed... And I do hear that he'll outgrow colic soon...
Almost one year ago my second son, Kolter, was born. A fatter or happier baby there has never been. He is adored by all but the time consumption of two very young children is a daily challenge for someone as selfish as me. The lack of sleep alone could, and sometimes does, drive me to tears. Having two kids means never again having a quiet house. For when one is asleep the other is certain to be awake. As a woman who thoroughly enjoys both writing and reading these two pursuits have largely gone the way of skinny jeans for me. That is, to the thrift store to be enjoyed by someone with a life different than mine.
Someone that doesn't have to wake up at 7 am every day of the week and immediately start meeting the needs of others. Someone that doesn't discuss potty-training methods over chicken nuggets at the playland. Someone that isn't screamed at 86 times before 9 in the morning. Someone that has showered alone and had time to paint her nails. Someone that didn't stumble down the hallway to soothe a fevered babe the night before. Someone that doesn't know the words to Where the Wild Things Are by heart.
Someone else. Someone that doesn't have a beatific smile bestowed on her by a shaggy haired blond cherub just for walking into his room. Someone that doesn't get to snuggle a warm and sleeping baby and feel the love emanating from within her soul at the sound of those sweet little breaths. Someone that has never juggled two young kids, one on each hip, and watched as they laughed at each other for no reason at all and thought, "this completes me."
Someone with a kitchen table absent of a vase filled with grocery store carnations and a football balloon that the boys picked out and their dad just couldn't bear to say no.
And perhaps that's what Mother's Day is meant to be. Just a day to look around at your family and know that you made them and they are yours. Whether or not you have a great husband like I am blessed with, whether you have a child in the making, one already out of the house or somewhere in between, they are yours. You have made your family what it is. And you don't need a breakfast in bed or a languid pedicure to appreciate the life that you have made, the woman that you are, the mom that you strive to be. Because your gifts are already with you. They're probably pulling at your hair and flinging jam in the kitchen as you read this. But soon, one of them will come in with sticky fingers and only one sock on and this amazing person will want a cuddle for no reason at all. And that beats out a novel in the tub any day, doesn't it?
Happy Mother's Day.