Being a mother isn’t something I planned. My husband and I didn’t sit down and map out when would be the best time to have kids…how that played into our life plan’s…or how having children would change our lifestyles. Nope. It just happened.
I was twenty, I had missed my period, and I went to the doctor because when I peed on the stick, the stick said I was pregnant. After the blood work came back, a nurse called to tell me that the test was positive and I said, “That’s fantastic!” She said, “Oh honey, this isn’t fantastic.” But even though I didn’t plan it, I wanted to be a mom to the little person growing inside me.
But at twenty, who knows how to be a mom? What I didn’t understand then, and I do understand now, is that even women who are 40 don’t know how to be a mom. Each day is different, each child is different and each family is different. No matter how much planning we do, we can’t control what our lives will look like after we have this kid.
I truly believe I’ve done the best I can for my kids. Have I been a perfect mom? By no means. If I knew then what I knew now would I have done some things differently? Of course I would. But here I am 16 years later with two teenagers and a growing boy, thinking about Mother’s Day.
I’ve never really been a fan of Mother’s Day. I’ve always kind of despised it, really because while my relationship with my own mother is strained, it seemed like so many children had mothers who are truly worth celebrating. I guess up until now, I’ve just been jealous. I’m also not one who really cares to be celebrated or acknowledged, although I’ve enjoyed the pictures, videos and meals my kids have made for me over the year.
But this year is different. Last fall, I realized that children love their parents in a way that is hard to find in any other relationship. When I look back on the last 16 years of being with these kids, I’ve definitely had my ups and my downs. Our family has had its up and downs, too. But throughout all of it, no matter what, my kids have loved me for exactly who I am.
They are ok with the fact that I don’t follow them around to everything. I can make them laugh harder than anyone else. They have always consoled me, even when I was stunned and couldn’t find enough strength to move off the couch. They know that I’m not the best cook and my eggs are going to look funny. Everytime I turn and think I’ve done something that the world is going to hate, my kids are always there, okay with whomever or wherever I am.
And you may tell me that my kids have it good. They have two loving parents who give them everything they need and want. That they’ve grown up in a safe environment. That they have an education and running water and electricity and clothes.
Yes, my kids are privileged and taken care of. So maybe their willingness to love me isn’t the product of true love. But when I realized how their love was so constant over the years, I also thought about how children who are less fortunate or grow up in abusive households or have parents who the rest of the world deems bananas still love their parents. Time and time again, I’ve watched children make excuses for, console and help their parents even when we are not sure that parent deserves to be loved in that way.
Children have a way of understanding their parents, meeting them where they are and still propelling them to become better people. I am so thankful to be loved like that by these three kids. For that, it seems that I shouldn’t have a day to be recognized for what I do for them…maybe they should have a day to be recognized for what they do for me.
Even mothers who are 60 years old (and have children who are grown ups and living on their own) don’t know how to be a mom. Well, this one doesn’t it. Sometimes, I think my kids are more of a ‘grown-up’ than I am. They certainly seem to be a lot more put-together than me. I take that as the greatest proof that – although I didn’t know how to be a mom and just flew by the seat of my pants with common-sense as my guide, my husband as my helper and the examples of things our parents did that we didn’t want to repeat in our minds – I must have been, and still am, a good mom. As my mom used to say, “well, at least my kids are still talking to me!”. And that, sometimes, is what mother-child love is all about.
Every day … not just on a holiday that is thrust down our throats.