It’s the second Sunday in May of 2017 – for those of you paying attention, that makes it Mother’s Day.
I woke up today feeling what I can only relate to a universal birthday of sorts, that’s shared with the most elite group of human beings I have come across – mothers. There’s the familiar excitement for the potential of the day and the element of surprise if bigger than most.
Could it be breakfast served in bed? Flowers by the nightstand? Family brunch at that restaurant with the highest mimosa reviews in the area? Who knows!
As I lay in bed, with my eyes open and my mind running, a sense of sadness and anxiety starts to sink in. What are the plans today? What time does everyone need to get ready by? Will my child have a good day? Shit, it’s Sunday – what else do I need to prepare for the work week to start? What else could I be doing instead of going to brunch and drinking bottomless mimosas?
Ugh – why do I always have a “it’s my party and I cry if I want to mentality”?
The truth is it’s not just the day that makes me sad when I think about Motherhood.
It happens when I want to greet every mother I know with a personalized message thanking them for all of their personal sacrifices (as mothers and wives) for the best interest of their children and family. I want to tell each and everyone of them that I still see YOU – my friend who once loved to dance, and sing, create, and hustle. I still see YOU in your style of parenting, and I see the best parts of YOU in your children.
It happens when I think about the mothers who weren’t ready for such responsibility when they got pregnant, but willingly and intentionally and purposefully grew into their role before they ever met their child.
It am trauma-level angry at mothers who fail to get their shit together for the sake of their children. Yes, motherhood/parenthood is the most complex, confusing, and sometimes, soul-crushing experiences we will endure throughout our lifetime. And we’ll probably never get the credit we deserve, or have to settle for one day a year that it’s socially acceptable to drink our value’s worth in breakfast champagne (again, bottomless). But I’m a firm believer that as a mother, you are responsible for taking on the hardships head on to protect your children – yes that means self-sacrifice, elevating emotional intelligence, and facing your own darkest demons. I’m aware you can’t always protect your children from what life has planned for them.
But of all the things that can permanently fuck up their development, your personal shit should never be part of it. Grow the fuck up and be grateful for the greatest gift of your existence. Being a mother is experiencing a miracle – fucking act accordingly!
Sorry for the vulgarity – I tried to tell you all today’s a trigger.
Last night, I was on the verge of tears when someone asked me if I wanted to have more kids in the future. My response triggered fears of not being an involved parent, being resentful for their birth, and not having adequate financial stability.
Today, I was reminded that the last time I wrote a blog post for Momillennial was one year ago today – entitled “Why She Expects a Call on Mother’s Day & Why She Won’t Get It – Open Letter Between Mother & Daughter” (I haven’t spoken to my mother in over a year – another story for another time kids.) Seeing a trend here?
I have experienced divorce, moving, job changes, part-time single moming, effective co-parenting, and dating again since then. So to say I felt compelled to write today, on this very special occasion, is an understatement.
That’s the thing about mothers – we get sad sometimes (some, a lot more than others). But despite all the feels, we’re resilient AF. And our children genuinely make us happy without even trying.
If you’re having a tough day today, know you’re not alone. Please reach out personally or via social media if necessary – I’m open to commiserating.
If you’re having an amazing day today, HAPPY HAPPY MOTHER’S DAY YOU AMAZING CREATURE!
Perhaps I shouldn’t have compared Mother’s Day to a birthday. Maybe it’s more like an annual postpartum anniversary… I guess we’ll see this time next year!
I’m off to spend the day with a bottomless glass of mimosa in one hand and a 2 year old in the other! Just kidding – he can walk.