Everyday is Mother's Day

So, when we moved down to Bella Vista, Arkansas from Kansas City, we rented a house in the woods. There was a vinyl wall decal in the kitchen declaring that "every day is its own gift." We thought that was one of the goofiest things ever, and we joked about it frequently.

As this week has been approaching, I have been thinking about Mother's Day. It will be my first. As I have been thinking about Mother's Day, I have been thinking about that wall decal.

This time of year, every jewelry store, every flower delivery service and a thousand companies in between and besides are trying to convince gift givers that they have that one special gift that Mom really wants. I know it's going to come across as self-deprecating, but when I look down at the little girl sleeping on the nursing pillow belted around my waist, I know that I already got the gift. It's not always wrapped up with a giant bow, and sometimes the fragrance of fresh flowers might be a plus in this case. But my daughter is what I really wanted for Mother's Day--for the last three years, actually.

The reason saying that you have exactly what you wanted comes across as self-deprecating is because being a real, live mom is actually pretty hard work on a day-to-day basis--especially in the early days.

The early days are like when you decide you're going to get in good shape. You start going to the gym faithfully everyday and eating right. It really kind of sucks at first, because you hurt all the time and you're always hungry. Eventually, you start to adjust and you reach this weird zone where you still kind of hurt and want to eat everything in sight, but it also feels oddly good. I associate it in my own mind with swimming laps. You get done and you're sore and feel water-logged with a faint odor of chlorine you can't wash out of your hair. 

But when you think of how hard it is, you have to remember that "every day is its own gift." 

She loves "Blot, Blot, Blot, Pat, Pat, Pat, Dry, Dry, Dry.

Most days it means I have a funny little baby who thinks every song I make up is awesome--especially "Legs, Knees--Baby Knees." Don't worry. I'm not going to sing it for you. It's really bad, but Willow loves it. We sing it at bath time and at lotion time. There is no one else in the world who appreciates my singing like she does.

Then there are other gifts. I can now eat an entire meal in as little as three minutes if my baby is crying. And I can sometimes convince myself that I don't really need to go to the bathroom, because if I put her down, she might lose her mind. Being so attached does offer some advantages--I can easily justify getting very little done around the house, because she really needs me.

There are also giant surprise gifts, like yesterday when we had our first episode of projectile vomit. I am still finding spots that we missed cleaning yesterday.

I realize that most of these gifts don't sound very glamorous. At least a few probably even sound horribly unpleasant. But there are certainly others.

For example, I now find myself belonging to an enormous club. Other members frequently check in to make sure I am receiving all of the benefits I was promised. The contributions of other mothers to what I hope will be a successful run for me, is truly a gift. I also get to be part of a never ending conversation--the one about how we bring these little ones along the best way possible and give them the best life we can. I'm definitely a new contributor to that conversation, but I look at that as a gift too.

Mostly, the daily gifts are pretty good. I have this little human that I both helped to create, and I now get to shape. It is a giant responsibility, for sure. But it's also a giant opportunity. I now understand why every mom thinks her child is beautiful, because they are. I now understand how it's different when it's your own child. I happily use a NoseFrida, even though I swore I never would, and the only reason I took off almost every stitch of clothes I had on after the vomit episode yesterday was to protect the leather couch. 

There are hard moments. There are the moments I fear I will never know what it feels like not to be tired again. Most days I wonder if I will ever truly eat a full meal and seconds if I want them again. I know there's a fair amount of envy that getting enough to eat continues to be a challenge for me as a mom.  

She is "especially fine."

And then I remember--I have the privilege of seeing almost every single one of her little smiles. I get to be around for every one of her milestones. I get to be the only person who can hold her just that certain way, because she won't stay still like that for anyone else. I almost always get to be the first face she sees when she is ready to get up for the day--and luckily, most days she wakes up happy to start her day. I hope I am one of the reasons for that happiness. And I get to know what it's like to love her like I will never love anyone else, and to understand everything about our existence in a way I never could before.

Everyday is Mother's Day. There may not be a Hallmark card waiting for me, and there may not be a package with a giant bow on it. That's okay. If those are the gifts you sign up for, you're going to be disappointed a lot and you are overlooking the real gifts.

Sweetest Thing--U2 

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