Mother's Day (a real holiday)
I never thought I'd be this excited about my first Mother's Day. I always tried to make it special for my Mom, but kind of thought it was a made up holiday. While in college, my husband told his mother it was a fake Holiday invented by Hallmark and she came very close to killing him. Today, I can safely say I totally understand her.
After seven months of constant learning, taking two steps forward and four steps back and realizing that there is a part of me sleeping in a crib, I think mothers need to be celebrated. I know, mothers should be celebrated everyday. Some even think they should get paid. But I think we deserve that one day in which the world stops to honor us.
Just like many of you, it was my choice to bring my daughter into this world. It was a selfish act. But from the moment she was born, there has been no room for selfishness. I constantly worry about her well being and do all I can to guarantee her happiness. She deserves nothing less.
I've been riddled with doubts for the last seven months. Is she eating too much?
Is she sleeping enough? Should I let her cry to sleep? Should I rock her to sleep? Should I give her apples or oranges? Is she happy? Will she hate me at 15?
Today I received an email from my sister in law that made me feel so much better. It basically said there is no such thing as the perfect mother, but that we should all be admired since we do the best we can and we do it all out of love.
I thought I would share it with all the mothers out there. Happy Mother's Day!
This is for the mothers who have sat up all night with sick toddlers in their arms,
wiping up barf laced with Oscar Mayer wieners and cherry Kool-Aid saying,
'It's okay honey, Mommy's here.
Who have sat in rocking chairs for hours on end soothing
crying babies who can't be comforted.
This is for all the mothers who show up at work with spit-up in
their hair and milk stains on their blouses and diapers in their purse.
For all the mothers who run carpools and make cookies and sew Halloween costumes.
And all the mothers who DON'T.
This is for the mothers who gave birth to babies they'll never see.
And the mothers who took those babies and gave them homes.
This is for the mothers whose priceless art collections are hanging on their refrigerator doors.
And for all the mothers who froze their buns on metal bleachers at football
or baseball games instead of watching from the warmth of their cars.
And that when their kids asked, 'Did you see me, Mom?' they could say,
'Of course, I wouldn't have missed it for the world,' and mean it.
This is for all the mothers who yell at their kids in the grocery store and
swat them in despair when they stomp their feet and scream for ice cream
before dinner. And for all the mothers who count to ten instead, but realize how child abuse happens.
This is for all the mothers who sat down with their children and explained all about making babies.
And for all the (grand)mothers who wanted to, but just couldn't find the words.
This is for all the mothers who go hungry, so their children can eat.
For all the mothers who read 'Goodnight, Moon' twice a night for a year. And then read it again, 'Just one more time.
This is for all the mothers who taught their children to tie their shoelaces before they started school.
And for all the mothers who opted for Velcro instead.
This is for all the mothers who teach their sons to cook and their daughters to sink a jump shot.
This is for every mother whose head turns automatically when a little voice calls 'Mom?' in a crowd,
even though they know their own offspring are at home -- or even away at college -- or have their own families.
This is for all the mothers who sent their kids to school with stomach aches, assuring them they'd be just FINE
once they got there, only to get calls from the school nurse an hour later asking them to please pick them up. Right away.
This is for mothers whose children have gone astray, who can't find the words to reach them.
For all the mothers who bite their lips until they bleed when their 14 year olds dye their hair green.
For all the mothers of the victims of recent school shootings, and the mothers
of those who did the shooting. For the mothers of the survivors, and the mothers
who sat in front of their TVs in horror, hugging their child who just came home from school, safely.
This is for all the mothers who taught their children to be peaceful, and now pray they come home safely from a war.
What makes a good mother anyway?
Is it patience? Compassion? Broad hips?
The ability to nurse a baby, cook dinner,
and sew a button on a shirt, all at the same time?
Or is it in her heart Is it the ache she feels when
she watches her son or daughter disappear down the street,
walking to school alone for the very first time?
The jolt that takes her from sleep to dread, from bed to crib at 2 A.M.
to put her hand on the back of a sleeping baby?
The panic, years later, that comes again at 2 A.M.
when she just wants to hear their key in the door and
know they are safe again in her home?
Or the need to flee from wherever she is and hug her child
when she hears news of a fire, a car accident, a child dying?
The emotions of motherhood are universal and so our thoughts are for
young mothers stumbling through diaper changes and sleep deprivation...
And for mature mothers learning to let go.
For working mothers and stay-at-home mothers.
Single mothers and married mothers.
Mothers with money, mothers without.
This is for you all. For all of us...
Hang in there.
In the end we can only do the best we can.
Tell them every day that we love them. And pray and never stop being a mother...
