My First Mother's Day

Yesterday I celebrated my first Mother’s Day as a legit “I birthed a baby” mom. Funny thing is, it didn’t really feel that different. Yes, I went through pregnancy, labored hard and pushed a baby out of a seemingly impossible situation and have watched my body and life shift like I didn’t know they could. Yes, I get to have moments like this where my heart just melts and then moments where I just want to run away.

All that didn’t change the way the day felt to me though. I’ve always seen it as a day to recognize the amazing women I’ve been blessed to know. The single teachers who never birthed kids yet mothered hundreds of us. Aunts who treated me like I was one of their own and showered me with love and life lessons. Sisters through blood and friendship who helped me grow and love and test my boundaries. And of course my amazing mom who showed me what unconditional love really is.

I didn't feel that the day should be about shining a spotlight on me and any perceived accomplishments. Rather, it was an opportunity for me to reflect on the incredible influences of many, many nurturing and inspiring women in my life. And to celebrate them.

So very many women deserve to be revered and celebrated. Not just one day but if we need to mark it on a calendar to make it so, I’m all for it.

My heart aches for those who feel anguish, turmoil, remorse, angst or any negative feeling on that day for a myriad of reasons. I wish it wasn’t so. But I know it is.

The human experience is rapt with hard days. I wish something so inherently good wasn’t another one but it is.

I’m learning that more and more each day. Being a mom is pretty cool but is far and away the hardest thing I’ve ever done. I fail at something as a mom almost every day. Like, real bad some days. I have this sweet, loving, mostly content baby in my care and I know I’m not good enough to her all the time. Mom guilt is a real thing and it started the moment I felt I was pregnant.

I know I’m not supposed to be the perfect parent but there’s that voice (sounds a lot like Dr. Phil) saying ‘you shouldn’t be that bad at it’.

Mercifully, I get to try again tomorrow. And the next day. And hopefully one day I’ll internalize how I feel about the other mothers in my life. They are amazing. They’re trying. They may be treading water, they may swimming gracefully but they’re there: in the water. On the front line.

They’ve somehow managed on an insane lack of sleep, they’ve wiped orifices where the sun don’t shine more times than they can count, they’ve read the same story a hundred times, dried tears, prepped lunches, agonized over poor choices, cried to the heavens for help, wet their pillow with their own tears and burst with joy over a child’s success. Oh mothers, you are the world to me. To them. Not just one day in May but always.