Mother’s Day
#MayIWrite — Day 14
I have two incredible children and a third in the stars. What a journey this has been so far. The moment I could feel the presence of my daughter, still too soon to take a test, is etched in my mind. Even sooner with my son, and his big sister felt his presence too. My third was a surprise, though she shouldn’t have been — with her, everything happened right away: my clothes got too tight, I was nauseous and had strong cravings for protein and my senses were razor sharp. When I found out I was expecting her I laughed at myself for not having realised sooner.
This day is a strange one. Spending it with my children, feeling all the love that comes with it, is so special and brings me so much joy. And all throughout the day my mind has also inhabited a second track, thinking of my little one who was scheduled to come into the world next weekend. It’s all part of my story as a mother. The indescribable joy of bringing two children into this world and the indescribable pain of having to make the choice to say goodbye to one.
It’s an exercise in the depths and heights of emotion. People to love in a way that could move mountains. People to worry for and feel protective of, people for whom I would sacrifice anything. Setting a bar in my mind and heart that I can never properly live up to, always wanting to match in myself the perfection I feel in my love for them. A fool’s errand, as becoming a mother doesn’t gift us with an escape from our own humanity.
We face our fears, we encounter beliefs and lessons we never knew were part of us, and we find a strength that cannot be extinguished by fatigue or frustration or difficulty. The strength of that love burns bright.
There are mothers who have lost their children, mothers who are separated from their children, mothers whose children were raised by other families, mothers who are waiting to be, mothers who gave birth and mothers who opened their arms to the children who needed them once they were already in the world. There are mothers who were once called fathers, mothers whose homes are temporary refuge, mothers parenting in poly families and mothers doing it all alone. There are mothers who got lost along the way.
Every mother has a story. Some of them I can’t relate to. Some of them make my heart ache or make me cry tears for their children.
Our bodies, our minds, our lives are changed with the landscape of motherhood.
My children may never understand the secret, even if I try to explain it, that I am only me. Only the child who kept getting older, who one day became a mother herself. I am only the woman who worries and experiments and tries to make sense of it all. Yet they look at me with their eyes full of everything I am to them. I was once their universe. Their ocean. Their heartbeat.
In the crow, main character Eric Draven says “‘Mother’ is the name for god on the lips and hearts of little children”.
This year, as every year on this day, I am taken aback at the privilege I have to be the mother of my children. These incredible humans. I am grateful to have their trust, and to be able to honour them by loving them, teaching them and providing for them to the very best of my ability. I am thankful to have a mother myself who has always been such an incredible role model. None of these are things I take for granted.
My heart is stretched and warmed and pained, and most of all, in love. Thank you to all three of my babies for making me a mother.
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