Mother’s Day is a day for mothers. Which also means it’s a day for flowers. For sleeping late. For breakfast in bed or brunch (or both). For greeting cards. For macaroni necklaces. For snuggles and kisses.
But more than anything else, it’s really a day for reflecting on your journey, and why you signed up for it. Motherhood is a long string of learning experiences, and just when you get good at something, you’re on to the next stage. It’s full of nuance and contradictions. It’s the greatest thing you’ve ever done, but also the hardest.
I’ve given birth three times (and only once with an epidural). I’ve rocked newborns, sprinted after toddlers, tried to reason with preschoolers, encouraged kindergartners, and chased away nightmares.
I’m addicted to the sound of my kids’ laughter, and will do almost anything to get my fix, even if it’s right before bedtime.
I’ve Ferberized and co-slept (occasionally in the same night). I’ve set limits. I’ve held my ground and chosen my battles. I’ve helicoptered and I’ve kept my distance. I’ve been the good cop and the bad one, too.
I’m a baby whisperer. A medic. A short order cook. A photographer. A DJ. A party planner. A referee.
I’m a mom, which means I’m often tired and sometimes I lose my patience. I’m perpetually worried. But there’s no one else I’d rather be.