Who really deserves thanks on Mother’s Day (though I’m a mother, it’s not me)
Tonight, I cuddled up with my 17-month-old son in his room while giving him his milk before bedtime, like most nights.
With daylight fading outside and the whooshing noise of waves softly sounding from his noise machine, there was a reassuring quiet. The type of quiet that makes me realize just how fortunate I am to have a son who usually goes to bed happy, well-fed and without protest.
But my gratitude didn’t stop there. I thought about the safety and security our suburban Chicago home provides him. How most nights my kiddo sleeps soundly without fear. The only noises that could startle him might be the horn of a passing Metra train, or the crack of thunder from a passing storm. Again, I quietly uttered a “Thank you” to no one in particular for this blessing.
With Mother’s Day approaching, my thoughts turned to those people in my little guy’s life who have shaped who he is and who he might become. There are so many. I’m a working mom who commutes downtown most weekdays, rising hours before little guy wakes up and not seeing him until almost dinnertime. Like lots of other moms. Really, I don’t have that much interaction with him Mondays through Fridays. I’m usually responsible for giving him one meal, changing one diaper, playing with him for an hour or two, then putting him to bed.
I feel like a fraud this Mother’s Day.
Sure, I carried this amazing small person around with me for more than nine months and gave birth to him, but I’m by no means his sole caretaker. So many people influence his daily life. So many people shape his thoughts and actions. And he’s a good kid. At least, I think he’s a good kid, so far. And to celebrate a day like this without expressing my gratitude to those who encourage this goodness would be a disservice to their precious work. So, here goes.
The husband. His job is erratic. He works in fits and bursts — often at a moment’s notice. Since college I’ve admired his passion for his work despite the long hours, competition, constant travel and time it requires away from those he loves. It would stress me out. I couldn’t live that way. Yet, each morning, he wakes with our little guy. Plays with him, dresses him, feeds him and sends him off to “school” (daycare). And, he usually texts a photo of the kiddo to me — just so I know how he’s doing okay. Or, when he’s not. Where I wake up with a list in my head of things that need to get done, my husband wakes up with one priority — his son. Everything else waits. His energy, unlike mine, is endless. And it takes a lot to tick him off (I’ll thank his SoCal upbringing for that laid-back attitude). The topper? He’s an excellent cook who can whip up a fantastic meal. How did I get so lucky to have him in my life? There was no possible way when we met 16 years ago I could know he would be a good dad. I just knew he was a good guy. I could never thank him enough for all he does for our son — and for me.
The grandmothers. Without the love, support, meals and assistance of my own mother and my incredible mother-in-law, where would I be? What a blessing to have two strong women in my life who love their children and grandchildren whole heartedly. My mother was technically raised by her own mother, but she credits her grandmother for doing the hard work. My mother-in-law lost her mother too soon due to cancer. Both have parented through personal and financial hardship, yet are so strong. I will never be as complete a mother as they are. I depend on their guidance, and am so grateful to be able to talk honestly, openly with both. They calm my fears. What amazing role models. “G” words are hard for little guy to say at this point, but I can’t wait to see the expression on their faces when he utters “Grandma” to each of them for the first time. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
The real moms. My son has attended daycare since he was three months old. He’s surrounded by a loving support system of women who come from diverse backgrounds. Several were born overseas and came to the United States with advanced degrees but little money. Others were Illinois born, raised and educated. All have children of their own. Each one brings her unique style to caring for others’ children. One is a stickler for a schedule who uses routine to create comfort. Another practices walking with my son while reciting ABCs (that’s why he can stumble through saying “A-B-C-D-E-F-G” at his age). One will forever have a place in our family’s heart. Her name was the third word my son ever said — and continues to say on a daily basis. It’s nothing for her to scoop him up, embrace him as her own and kiss his cheek. Each time I’m lucky enough to observe this, I think “Thank you” and get choked up (and I’m not the type of person who easily gets choked up). And the feeling is mutual — kiddo loves her, too. That’s why it was so hard to recently tell her and hisother teachers goodbye. It was time for him to move onto a toddler class. New classmates, new teachers. New problems, new outbursts, new issues. And, profound, unexpected sadness for me. There was a bond created. Now, a new one needs to be established. I’m hopeful it will come easy, but don’t expect it to be as strong, as special as the one now broken. Yet, my gratitude is boundless for these are the women who care for my son most of the week.
The boss and coworkers. Thank you for understanding all those times when I’ve arrived to the office late and/or left it early on my son’s behalf. Some days I’m tired. Others, not very productive. Quite often, I just want a donut and you’ve bought me a donut. Yet, most days, you ask how I’m doing. How my little guy is doing. You listen to my concerns about his poop color, or his inability to walk yet on his own — and most of you don’t have children of your own yet! Why would you ever want to hear about this stuff?! Patience. You have lots of it, and you’ve impressed upon me the desire to create more of it within myself and for others.
The passersby. To anyone who has paused two seconds to wave back at my son, given him a high-five, shown him a smile, or waited as he’s attempted to blow you a kiss — thank you. Your thoughtfulness makes such a difference in our lives. And, kiddo’s desire to communicate in a kind, gentle way makes me feel like I’ve accomplished something as a parent.
The extended family. Blood-relation or not, thank you for any of our “I’ve been there” conversations. You’re way more comforting than Google.
My sister. After high school, I moved away from my hometown for 17 years. I was away during most of my brother and sister’s formative years. Thankfully, I moved back just in time for the really important stuff in my sister’s life. I was around to celebrate her engagement, help her plan her wedding and reception (where I fool-danced without care), share with her the news we were expecting our first child and have “What the fuck?” conversations with about our parents’ unexpected, impending divorce after more than 30 years of marriage. What an honor when two months after the birth of our own son she shared privately with me that she was going to become a mom, too. With a boy. Our kiddo’s cousin. And, that after minor medical scares, he was delivered into this world safely. She also now works full time, entrusts a woman with her little guy’s care and tries to find ways to make life, career and family all work together. How blessed am I that we are so close — geographically and emotionally — that we can share our parental fears, frustrations, failures and triumphs? We’re in this motherhood thing together, Sista.
I know the saying goes, “It takes a village to raise a child.” I feel it takes kind souls everywhere — those I know and those I don’t— to help me raise my child. To help me reinforce positive values and nurture my son.
Thank you, kind souls, for all you’ve done and continue to do.
You might not receive candy, flowers or a special day in your honor, and that’s unfortunate. You deserve recognition. Please know how important you are, and how much I thank you each night, cuddled up with my little guy.
