On this Mother’s Day, I’m thinking about the multitudes of meaning the term mother encompasses. The oceans of significance, of empathy, of challenge, of discovery. To mother is a verb. It is not just who you are, but what you do.
On this Mother’s Day, I’m thinking about my relationship with my own mother, and the things I didn’t appreciate until I became a mother. What it meant to be a working mom, how hard that really is. To make enough money to care for all the basic needs and then still have enough to take my brother and I on vacation. To dress us up in beautiful clothes. To make me a “strawberry smoothie” (strawberries mashed with sour cream and sugar) when I was having a rotten day. To pay attention closely enough to know that I was having a rotten day.
On this Mother’s Day, I’m thinking about my friend, the new mom. My friend who cannot talk or think about anything other than nap schedules and nursing routines, about how much laundry there is and all those nighttime feeds. I know you, I see you. I think back to those early months and reminisce on what it was really like to bring life into this world. To release a child into the world and to have them swallow up the old you, if only for a few weeks. You give birth but ultimately, it is you who is born again.
On this Mother’s Day, I’m thinking about my friends who so desperately want to become mothers, but haven’t yet, for a variety of reasons. Some haven’t met the right person, others are in between a sea of doctors appointments. Praying for a baby in their arms, praying for a change of luck. I am in awe of how strong you are. To keep going, to keep praying, to never give up. I am thinking of you, loving you, praying for you.
On this Mother’s Day, I’m thinking of those without access to the army of support that it takes for a mother to do her job well: paid leave, a supportive partner, a supportive family/network/community. Time, space, money, to heal and to nurture.
On this Mother’s Day, I’m thinking of how fortunate I am when it comes to my relationship with my mother-in-law, who came to my house when my baby was born and washed the dishes and folded the laundry and closed the french doors to my room so I could sleep and sleep and sleep. Who just like my own mother, calls me when I have the sniffles or when I am tired or to wish me a safe flight. Who always makes sure that I am included alongside her actual daughters, whether it is Mother’s Day or simply Saturday.
On this Mother’s Day, I’m thinking of the woman who became a mother without a choice, because she didn’t have access to a safe abortion when she needed one. I am scared for our country and I hope that we recognize that becoming a mother is a deeply personal choice, that a woman’s body cannot and should not be controlled by the government, and that we must allow women to choose the path of motherhood.
On this Mother’s Day, I think of what becoming a mother has meant to me. I became a mother just shy of 27 years old. Was I too a child? I don’t know. Maybe. I was married, supported, in love. I thought that I knew what was up ahead but boy was I wrong. The moment my Reva entered my life, it felt like the very first day. A new chapter begun and everything that came before it paled in comparison to the love I felt. I know it sounds cheesy but these are the truest words I can write. The birth of my child cracked my heart open and transformed me and so many of the fundamental beliefs that I have had. She became and continues to be the ultimate source of truth and the ultimate guide.
Being a mother to Reva is the most important job in the world, and the recognition of that, and the juggle of that in our modern world, is a see-saw that teeters back and forth every single day. I know that fact, I accept that fact, and yet, I still want to work outside the home. I still want to see my friends and go on vacations with only my husband and make time for my own interests. And all of that makes perfect sense in the logical sense, inside my head, but inside my heart, it’s not so simple. Time away for me means time away from her and somehow the two sides of the equation don’t always zero out.
On this Mother’s Day, I’m thinking about the future children I hope to have. I wonder what that experience will be like. Will I change and be reborn all over again? Will I love them as much as I love my Reva? I am sure the answer is yes- but it’s hard to imagine so much love fitting inside of me. Who will they be? Who will I become? I feel grateful to still be at the start of my mothering.
On this Mother’s Day, I’m thinking of all those mothers with grown children, who are celebrating their success while also deeply missing the first years. The newborn days. The milky smells and the sleepless nights. Sometimes I think about how fast life is moving and it immediately makes me cry. So many of us wait for this destiny of becoming a mother and then in the blink of an eye, a grown adult stands before you.
On this Mother’s Day, I’m thinking of all those mothers who have lost children. Those who have to carry the most unbearably heavy burden in their hearts every single day. May your child’s memory be a blessing and a comfort, and may you never see or experience such pain again.
On this Mother’s Day, I’m thinking of all those who have complicated or difficult relationships with their own mothers. Of all those who don’t have their mother nearby to celebrate. Of those who can’t celebrate with their mothers anymore, and what they wouldn’t give for one more phone call.
On this Mother’s Day, I’m thinking of all those woman who can’t or don’t want to have children, and how that decision shapes this day for them.
On this Mother’s Day, I’m thinking of what a gift it is to be a mother. To be loved by my mother and my grandmother and my great-grandmother before that. To pass that love onto my daughter as a mother.
On this Mother’s Day, I’m grateful that I get to be part of this most precious gift. The the gift of growing life, of giving life, of raising life. What a beautiful and intricate destiny it is to be a mother.
Sending my love to you all.
Jane