In these weeks leading up to Mother’s Day, the day I became a mother keeps running through my mind. There had been so much anticipation and after so much emotion, so much exertion and physical exhaustion, there was this little boy, so tiny and squeaky in our arms.. he made our hands look huge. We just kept looking at one another like is this real.. we have a child, we have a little boy. And now we are hungry, very hungry. And a lot of can I sleep for four days, please feelings.
Last year, I don’t think I quite understood Mother’s day in a personal way. I knew it was a day for me, and I had so many celebrators (thank you, celebrators!), but I was so new to everything and barely coming out from hibernation of the newborn era. I was remembering what it felt like to sleep again, or hold a somewhat intelligent conversation (fancy that!).
I thought of my mom, I thought of my grandma, I thought of sisters and mom-in-laws and aunts and friends. I thought of all the other mothers. Curious when I would feel within my gut what it’s like to be a mother, you know.. that undeniable, roaring, bear-like, deep motherhood, that somehow seeps ooey and gooey love with a homemade casserole on the side?
But then comes the day. The day when you find yourself in the restroom (and on the restroom, hmm, yes.) and reaching reaching to hold all the cabinets closed, tossing a handful of cheerios in the opposite direction to distract the child so he doesn’t rip open every drawer and eventually find and consume all the bar soap. Yes, I wouldn’t have gone to such lengths to prevent such occurrences in my pre-mother life.
Or the days when you’re so dog tired that you can’t ignore his pitiful yet constant whinnying from the crib anymore (why is the sun out already?! why do we not have a live-in nanny in this house!?) so you take him out, plop him on the rug with the iphone and lie there starfish (actually thinking that maybe you’ll sleep..nope). Or the days when James lies there too, so we can supervise between snores. I suppose that covers the roaring (if we’re talking about the open mouth snore..).
There’s the first day that another kiddo decides to push yours, and you see it in naughty child’s eyes and wiped across his face as he deviously plots how to take his basketball, not realizing that my littler kiddo would happily hand you the ball and chew on your shoelace with no objection. Still though, for a moment there, certainly feelings of bear.
And of course, I guess the ooey gooey was always there, since the first day I held our little squeaky creation, with such unbelievable compassion from a new place in my heart, alongside the reverence and disbelief that this little thing was ours, all ours. Then there are all the poop stories. Yes, we all have them, and they’re all voraciously disgusting and gooey all at once!
So this year, I can proudly say, yup..I feel like a mother, a mommy, or as Luke refers to me, as a mum-mah. And I pray I get to continue to feel and love and respect this incredible role I’ve been given, and that I uphold the name well 🙂