Yes, you heard me right. I want to wish my kids a Happy Mother’s Day.
I know it is traditionally a day for mothers. We’re meant to be showered with love, relaxation, and, if we’re lucky, some sentimental gifts to serve as a token of appreciation. We might get breakfast in bed, foot messages, or handmade jewelry. But this year, all I want is to celebrate my children.
Because, without them, I wouldn’t be a mother.
Having kids always just seemed like the thing to do, something that was expected of me. Admitting that now seems almost cringe-y. In my youth, I never pictured myself as a mother, but I figured it would happen eventually. I was very ‘meh’ about the whole idea of starting a family. Back then, I couldn’t fathom the enormity of what was in store.
But then. he came and changed it all. My son transformed the ground on which I stood. He tidal wave-d the very foundation I had established my individuality upon. I will never forget the moment I first laid eyes on him. I gasped-literally gasped- as I beheld him through a tear-filled gaze.
Look, I made this!
I made this breathtakingly miraculous little thing. Me! I did that. How was I possibly worthy enough to be his mother?! I couldn’t understand it, and it still astounds me to this day. He was everything. He was it. There was little else in my world from that point on.
Once I had motherhood under my feet, I craved more. I could finally see my path. You see, before my son, I had no aim. I wasn’t one of those people fortunate enough to know what I wanted to do with my life, who I wanted to be. I never knew my career path or my deepest, most defining qualities. Before my son, I floated in an undefined nebula, wandering haphazardly.
After my son, life had purpose. At that point, I was certain, without a shadow of a doubt, I was on this earth to be a mother.
I could finally see what I wanted out of my life. I wanted another child. Another baby meant the completion of my ideal family. Little did I know I’d have to fight with every fiber of my being to make that happen.
For me, a second child came with the debilitating challenge of secondary infertility. For those three years, I dreamed of adding the last link to my life, and for three years I was plagued with negative pregnancy tests. For three years, I was denied what I wanted most.
But then, it happened. I finally became pregnant without medical intervention, without poring nervously over a pregnancy test, without sacrificing my very soul. That was hands down the best day of my life, knowing I was giving my son a sibling. I knew my dream was actually coming true, solidifying my future vision.
Best day ever.
So here they are, my son and my daughter. And it’s true, the old adage I used to hear is true.
My kids do teach me more than I teach them.
They’ve taught me patience. Before them, I didn’t realize how little patience I had. My children have given me so much patience that I’m able to run a daycare out of my home, working with children day in and day out.
My son and my daughter have helped me find my inner child. I can see through their eyes. I marvel at their wonder and innocence. It captivates me and helps me find beauty and fascination in the menial. The world is absolutely mind-blowing to them, which allows me to live with marvel and curiosity right alongside them.
As a mother, I’ve learned the power, both in strength and weakness, of unconditional love. Un-con-di-tion-al. It was just a word before motherhood. Now it evokes torrential surges of terror as well as an incandescent brand of ecstasy I wouldn’t be able to embody without them.
Don’t get me wrong, some days are hard. Some days are in fact unbearable. And some days, I want to walk right out the door and not look back. But it’s those hard days, those painful, anguishing days that make the better days all the more worthwhile.
So Happy Mother’s Day to my children.
Thank you, thank you, thank you.
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