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Here’s to the Mommy month of May
Mother’s Day! The first time I was really aware of Mother’s Day, in the truest sense of the day, I was about eight years old. I’m not sure what it was that fired in my brain, but I remember thinking the thing my mom must have wanted the most was a bouquet of flowers. It worked for the moms in TV sitcoms. My allowance wouldn’t permit such an expenditure and, truthfully, I really had no idea how I would have made that happen. I was a kid and blissfully unaware of florist shops. Bouquets of flowers just happened. But I remember I did the very next best thing to buying a bouquet. That morning I got up a bit early. I ran across the park and picked little a bunch of flowers from the little planter on the edge of Strathburn Park. Little kids don’t know stuff and it was probably a big no-no to pick those flowers. Did Mom smile? Yeah, a little bit. Then she asked me where the flowers came from and I told her “I found them”, which wasn’t a lie. On all of the Mother’s Days that followed, my oldest sister orchestrated the occasion. MP bought the greeting card, which we all signed. She made the coffee and toasted the toast. Oldest Sister boiled the eggs and put the breakfast together, on a tray, to show our mom how grateful we all were. I vaguely remember baking a pink and purple cake for Mom one year, the creation of which was overseen by our Oldest Sister. Essentially, our oldest sister was in charge of the whole Mother’s Day process when we were kiddos. We probably didn’t thank our sister enough for all she did.
And the thing is, I’m not sure if the seven of us behaved all day long or made our beds without being coaxed or cooked dinner or fed the dog or changed the straw in the rabbit hutch or weeded Mom’s garden or cleaned up the mess we made in the kitchen. The significance of the day just didn’t have an impact upon me until I was much older. I really didn’t “get” the strength it took to do the mothering part until I became a mom. In my early days of being a mother, when I could pull my mind out of the challenge of caring for a newborn, I suddenly had a brand new appreciation for the job. As a SAHM I realized the two books I’d been given about being a good mom were woefully inadequate. Not one page, of those books, mentioned anything about a baby who had “tummy issues” which, for our oldest son, was lactose intolerance. Nor did those books talk about postpartum depression or recovering from delivering a ginormous infant or the loads of laundry or the complete lack of sleep or being bombarded with well-intentioned advice from people who didn’t have children. Nor did the books talk about the days when I was sure I couldn’t take another step or sterilize another bottle or clean-up after another “poo-nam-ee” and how much I needed my mom, or my Oldest Sister to tell me I was doing okay.
So, here’s to all of the women who are Moms, and the Sisters who helped. Here’s to the pale, sleep-deprived faces. Here’s to the pain of sitting down on a hard chair the day we arrived home with our bundle of joy. Here’s to the squishy bellies and the hips that hurt and the feet that seemed to have grown a size. Here’s to the sleepless nights and trance-like days after the sleepless nights. Cheers to the look-of-love and the wonder and the soft caress of those tiny toes and the wondrous smell of newborn’s head. Here’s to the days when you didn’t think you’d ever get enough sleep and to the days when you thought you’d never eat, shower or poop alone, again. Cheers to all of the lovely birth Mommies and the beautiful Mommies who are parents by adoption. And cheers to the “Big Sisters” who gave us a little push in the right direction.
May is the Month of Motherhood and mothering memories. Clink your glass to the good, the bad and the pureed.
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