Dear Reader: I wrote this blog post a handful of years ago for MotherhoodLater, but have rerun it every year. I also received those flowers from my stepson several years ago. However, the two experiences have reaffirmed the power of motherhood and my joy at being a mother.
It’s amazing how one year can change things; how motherhood makes us forget what happened when our children were younger or youngest; how they came into our lives and what changes we needed to make once they were here.
I can honestly say that I am nearly fully comfortable in my Motherhood-clothes, a role that I played well in the beginning, but one that I now don each day with ease in the same way that I donned singlehood for many, many years. I won’t say that there aren’t days I wish I could wake up, yawn, and go down for coffee all on my own time, my own rhythm. I will say, however, that I’m the happiest that I’ve ever been – now that I have children.
I write often, ruminate and create projects involving new midlife motherhood. I proudly say that I’m unique, as we all are in our desire to have kids in our middle age – an unthinkable thing for the masses nearly one generation ago where midlife mothers became so “by accident.” For nearly all of us, this life choice was no accident, but a calculated often over-thought risk.
So, today I celebrate all of the mothers of the world whose hearts, minds, and souls desired something for themselves, and who “gave it up” to the Universe to allow something greater to happen which, in nearly all cases, has promulgated something as simple… as love.
I remember the first Mother’s Day card I received. It was nine years ago. I’d been a new mom for two months. I was a more than timid about reading the card; nearly embarrassed about acknowledging my new-found status.
It was similar to an incident which occurred around the same time. While at a local Blockbuster, my baby called out to me in front of some acquaintances. Unaware that I’d become a new mom, they nearly paled when they saw that I was the recipient. I couldn’t face them directly, but caught their disbelief out of the corner of my eye. I was almost embarrassed for them. I wondered whether I appeared “motherly enough;” whether they’d ever seen me in that light.
I remember strolling my baby around town and having people express surprise seeing me as a new mom. I was now part of a club which I’d never ever thought I’d join, nor believed that I could be a member. I wasn’t sure how to act or what to do. Suddenly, the armor I’d worn in public was stripped – the world could now see what I’d always longed for (but hidden), would witness a more transparent person, not the one who carefully presented the image she had wanted to.
“Motherhood” now held a different meaning to me. I realized that while nearly everyone could be a mother, not everyone could wear motherhood well.
So, finding myself in these new ‘clothes,’ I kept squirming – the arms were too long, the neck too tight; they were often too baggy or the wrong color. There was that same old embarrassment, again.
Which brings me back to the Mother’s Day cards. As the years passed, the cards felt more appropriate, the words more endearing. The printed words “Mother” or “Mom” made me more joyful, made my heart skip a beat. So, while the experience became more customary and usual, it was the ‘same old, same old,’ but in a very, very good way.
This year, as I am looking forward to getting all my cards (breakfast in bed and presents?), I will gratefully open them and express my surprise/gratitude/happiness with laughter/crying/joy. And while I surely will express myself a little more exuberantly than usual, it will only be because I am just glad to be here and celebrating a day made for me. Mother’s Day.