On Mother's Day
On this Mother's Day, I am grateful.
I am grateful for my mom, who spent countless volunteer hours in my classrooms, driving on field trips, as a Sunday School teacher, and a Birchwood counselor. I am thankful that through difficult financial times, she was there when we got home from school even when she wondered if she should be out working instead. I am grateful that she understands that not all women have that choice, or choose differently. I am thankful that when our relationship was at its peak of turmoil and anger, she still reminded me I could take a day off school to go shopping and get my nails done with her, if I wanted...even though my type A personality would never allow myself to take a day off school "for no good reason."
I am thankful for my grandmother, who raised two boys and relished having a granddaughter and a girl to sew for, for the first time. She now has another granddaughter and three great-granddaughters and I don't believe would ever have imagined all the dresses and bloomers she'd be sewing at 89 years old. I am grateful that through one of the toughest times of my life, she has become my fiercest feminist defender. I am grateful that she passed down her gift and love of hospitality to me, even if I'll never make a pot roast like hers.
I am grateful for Meme, who taught me that just because you were old that didn't mean you had to stop being sarcastic, to stop caring about fashion, or to stop smiling. I remember our talks around her kitchen table, at three different homes in Maryland, fondly and vividly. I'll never forget the way she smelled; and one day when I was young my mom woke me up from school wearing her perfume, at least three years after I'd last visited her, and I sleepily asked "Meme?"
I'm grateful for Dana, who introduced me to country fried steak, made me eat my asparagus at 18 years old, and danced around her kitchen with me. I'm grateful that when I didn't know who to turn to or who to ask for help, she was there. I thank God that she's my kid's Granny Day, that they have someone who will take them to McDonald's so I don't have to.
I'm grateful for my mom friends. God, I'm so grateful. For the friends who have handed me coffee without me asking. For the friends who have held my hand while I cried at play dates at Carl's, Jr....and some of the same friends who laughed at me while I had to climb up to retrieve a child from the inner womb of the play structure. (Really, if you have friends who don't laugh AT you when you're unintentionally making birth noises in a public place, you need new friends.) For the friends who have picked my kids up after they were knocked down, watched them while I worked, and forgiven them when they mistreated their own kids. For the friends who have made my children grilled cheese and chicken nuggets, cut their grapes in half, and put the ketchup in the "right" place on their plate. For the friends who have responded to late night anxious mom texts, who've told me it will get better, who have said it may suck right now but that doesn't meant YOU suck...I cannot imagine motherhood without them.
Which brings me to my babies. I'm grateful for a love like I never knew possible. I'm grateful for the many laughs, almost as many tears, the apologies and the I forgive yous. For the pushes on the swing, many games of dominoes, sharing roses & thorns, bedtime prayers, tantrums (heaven, help me), songs and dances, and never ending "whys?" I thank God every day for what they've taught me - and how much I've grown since they were born. And I ask Him to help me teach them half as much, and to help me shield them from all pain. I'm grateful for the pudgy hands that have swatted at my face as I nursed, clung to my shirt as I held them, reached for me to pick them up, and held mine as we crossed the street.
Do you know what I'm most extraordinarily grateful for, though? The pain of motherhood.
From the moment I was told I might not be able to have children and my anticipatory grief began, to the anguish of learning you can't shield your child from all pain.
Being told I might be infertile has helped me emphasize with couples struggling with infertility. It's reminded me that on Mother's Day, there are women being stuck with needles, choking down pills, living in doctor's offices and being emotionally wrecked all to become a mother.
The pain of childbirth has gifted me with firsthand knowledge that women are the toughest beings on the planet. That we can get through any pain, even if it means learning sometimes asking for help getting through it.
The pain of postpartum depression has taught me that I'm worth living. I'm worth it as a mother, as a friend, but most importantly as a child of God. Postpartum depression taught me to tell other mothers "You're doing INCREDIBLE" instead of "You're doing your best" because I know all they hear is that their best isn't good enough, it's not as good as another mother's best. It taught me to never say "You're going to miss this" because no one misses the personal hell that is depression, and the guilt that statement carries with it. It taught me to hold the hands of other mother's, to drop food off at their front door, to tell them they're not alone.
The pain of (maternal) OCD has reminded me that I love my children more than life itself, so much so that my intrusive thoughts will torment me over anything horrible happening to them. It taught me that I'm so much more than intrusive thoughts. It taught me to be vulnerable and open and honest and raw, and once I could do that I saw that I was not alone...and other mothers felt relief in that, too.
The pain of seeing your children in pain is the hardest, most insane thing to be grateful for. I try to be grateful for the opportunities to teach them through it, to help them learn to be empathetic, and to humble myself and admit my mistakes as a parent.
Yes, the pain of motherhood is the most glorious and awful and wonderful part of it all. We may not need the pain in order to be grateful for our children, our mothers, our aunts, sisters, or friends. We may not even need the pain in order to find joy outside of it. But as I stumble through the pain of it, I'm reminded that we do need the pain in order to grow and more importantly, in order to help others through it.
On Mother's Day, I am grateful.
I am grateful for my mom, who spent countless volunteer hours in my classrooms, driving on field trips, as a Sunday School teacher, and a Birchwood counselor. I am thankful that through difficult financial times, she was there when we got home from school even when she wondered if she should be out working instead. I am grateful that she understands that not all women have that choice, or choose differently. I am thankful that when our relationship was at its peak of turmoil and anger, she still reminded me I could take a day off school to go shopping and get my nails done with her, if I wanted...even though my type A personality would never allow myself to take a day off school "for no good reason."
I am thankful for my grandmother, who raised two boys and relished having a granddaughter and a girl to sew for, for the first time. She now has another granddaughter and three great-granddaughters and I don't believe would ever have imagined all the dresses and bloomers she'd be sewing at 89 years old. I am grateful that through one of the toughest times of my life, she has become my fiercest feminist defender. I am grateful that she passed down her gift and love of hospitality to me, even if I'll never make a pot roast like hers.
I am grateful for Meme, who taught me that just because you were old that didn't mean you had to stop being sarcastic, to stop caring about fashion, or to stop smiling. I remember our talks around her kitchen table, at three different homes in Maryland, fondly and vividly. I'll never forget the way she smelled; and one day when I was young my mom woke me up from school wearing her perfume, at least three years after I'd last visited her, and I sleepily asked "Meme?"
I'm grateful for Dana, who introduced me to country fried steak, made me eat my asparagus at 18 years old, and danced around her kitchen with me. I'm grateful that when I didn't know who to turn to or who to ask for help, she was there. I thank God that she's my kid's Granny Day, that they have someone who will take them to McDonald's so I don't have to.
I'm grateful for my mom friends. God, I'm so grateful. For the friends who have handed me coffee without me asking. For the friends who have held my hand while I cried at play dates at Carl's, Jr....and some of the same friends who laughed at me while I had to climb up to retrieve a child from the inner womb of the play structure. (Really, if you have friends who don't laugh AT you when you're unintentionally making birth noises in a public place, you need new friends.) For the friends who have picked my kids up after they were knocked down, watched them while I worked, and forgiven them when they mistreated their own kids. For the friends who have made my children grilled cheese and chicken nuggets, cut their grapes in half, and put the ketchup in the "right" place on their plate. For the friends who have responded to late night anxious mom texts, who've told me it will get better, who have said it may suck right now but that doesn't meant YOU suck...I cannot imagine motherhood without them.
Which brings me to my babies. I'm grateful for a love like I never knew possible. I'm grateful for the many laughs, almost as many tears, the apologies and the I forgive yous. For the pushes on the swing, many games of dominoes, sharing roses & thorns, bedtime prayers, tantrums (heaven, help me), songs and dances, and never ending "whys?" I thank God every day for what they've taught me - and how much I've grown since they were born. And I ask Him to help me teach them half as much, and to help me shield them from all pain. I'm grateful for the pudgy hands that have swatted at my face as I nursed, clung to my shirt as I held them, reached for me to pick them up, and held mine as we crossed the street.
Do you know what I'm most extraordinarily grateful for, though? The pain of motherhood.
From the moment I was told I might not be able to have children and my anticipatory grief began, to the anguish of learning you can't shield your child from all pain.
Being told I might be infertile has helped me emphasize with couples struggling with infertility. It's reminded me that on Mother's Day, there are women being stuck with needles, choking down pills, living in doctor's offices and being emotionally wrecked all to become a mother.
The pain of childbirth has gifted me with firsthand knowledge that women are the toughest beings on the planet. That we can get through any pain, even if it means learning sometimes asking for help getting through it.
The pain of postpartum depression has taught me that I'm worth living. I'm worth it as a mother, as a friend, but most importantly as a child of God. Postpartum depression taught me to tell other mothers "You're doing INCREDIBLE" instead of "You're doing your best" because I know all they hear is that their best isn't good enough, it's not as good as another mother's best. It taught me to never say "You're going to miss this" because no one misses the personal hell that is depression, and the guilt that statement carries with it. It taught me to hold the hands of other mother's, to drop food off at their front door, to tell them they're not alone.
The pain of (maternal) OCD has reminded me that I love my children more than life itself, so much so that my intrusive thoughts will torment me over anything horrible happening to them. It taught me that I'm so much more than intrusive thoughts. It taught me to be vulnerable and open and honest and raw, and once I could do that I saw that I was not alone...and other mothers felt relief in that, too.
The pain of seeing your children in pain is the hardest, most insane thing to be grateful for. I try to be grateful for the opportunities to teach them through it, to help them learn to be empathetic, and to humble myself and admit my mistakes as a parent.
Yes, the pain of motherhood is the most glorious and awful and wonderful part of it all. We may not need the pain in order to be grateful for our children, our mothers, our aunts, sisters, or friends. We may not even need the pain in order to find joy outside of it. But as I stumble through the pain of it, I'm reminded that we do need the pain in order to grow and more importantly, in order to help others through it.
On Mother's Day, I am grateful.
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