This is the seventh time I’m celebrating Mother’s Day and like all the other 6 times, I’m spending the day doing the one thing that makes me the happiest. Sleeping? Very close second, but no. Out for some me time? Nuh-uh, although the husband makes this offer every year. Binge watch dramas? Relaxing massage? High tea? No, no and no.
I’m here just basking in the adoration of my four little ones. Why go off to do my own thing alone when I can be here to soak in all the love and appreciation coming my way?
“What’s that, baby? I’m the best mommy in the universe? WHY YES, TELL ME MORE!! Also, you missed a spot on my cheek with the kissing…”
In the past 7 years, motherhood has changed me so much. In some ways, it’s obvious, like this c-section scar that will never go away. And these stretch marks accumulated from four pregnancies. And the resolute baby fats that have permanently attached itself to my…everywhere. My back and shoulders ache persistently from holding babies, these knees have started to creak, and when no one is looking, I try to smoothen out the lines on my face as I check myself out in the mirror.
Some of these other changes aren’t so apparent but I notice them every now and then. I’m stronger, as mothers are required to be. Kids give you a reason to dig deep and find a strength you never knew you had. I’m happier, though I can’t explain why. When I was younger, I used to wake up and spend the first moments of my day trying to think of something that would make me happy; something to look forward to. These days, I wake up feeling like I’ve fought a shark, been backed into by a car and then run over by a train several times but also strangely happy.
Today, we brought the kids to the playground. It was an epic journey (all 50 metres!) hauling 3 excited kids, 2 ridiculously heavy big kid bikes, 1 little kid bike and 1 fat baby all the way to the playground. Two minutes after we arrived, it started to rain so we spent the rest of the time shrieking and laughing and running for cover, then hauling everything all the way back.
While struggling with 2 bikes and one hyperactive Finn, the husband turned to me and said, “This just about sums up our life and parenting.”
There’s a metaphor in there somewhere. This life is intense and insane (just moving from point to point with the whole troop is like an odyssey) and people watching from the outside won’t understand why anyone would possibly want to do this.
But once you’re in on the secret, it’s like a drug that keeps you going.
My kind of Mother’s Day isn’t very different from all the other days I get to be a mom. It’s about having grubby hands smear chocolate on my cheeks as my sweet boy shares his cookie with me. It’s about falling asleep with the weight of a baby on my chest and waking up to tiny feet jabbing my spleen. It’s about squishy red hearts and messy half-torn handwritten notes that read “Hares a prassen for you mammy you are super awsum i love you.” It’s about being adored by tiny people who choose only me when they’re happy, sad, sleepy, poopy and ill (such privilege!). It’s about being extravagantly loved by the raddest little humans and loving on them in return.
Being a mom is the best thing that’s ever happened to me and I’m so grateful for every single day I get to do it.
//Happy Mother’s Day to all the moms, you are all rockstars.
