Last week I asked my husband if we could skip Mother’s Day for me this year as I’m not feeling like a very successful mother at the moment. He told me that wasn’t allowed. Another friend pointed out it’s also about them having an opportunity to tell me they love and appreciate me.
Fine.
I understand that, but I still woke up today wishing I could stay in bed. I’m not sure I can read the cards today, but I will want them when this time has passed. So maybe I won’t read them today but I will accept them with love and read them when I’m ready.
I always understood Mother’s Day was hard for some people – those who have lost their mothers, those who have lost children, those for whom, for whatever reason, Mother’s Day is not what greeting card companies would have you believe. I just never expected it to be hard for me this year.
I had lots of things I wanted to say about motherhood today, but this page has remained blank for days. I can’t explain why I want to fast forward through this day – I believe mothers deserve to be celebrated and I know I’m caring for my child in my own way right now, even if it’s not the way I will one day be able to. For many reasons, some of which I don’t understand, the whole day just makes me teary.
So this morning I looked through some of our photos from Connor’s first year, and a few from beyond. These photos say a lot about who my child is, and in them I began to see who I am as his mother in a new way.
Typical photo of a baby right after birth? Yes. Typical Connor? YES. At the time I didn’t know how typical (thank goodness).
We became a family, and in that family my role is mama:
I had no idea how fleeting this would be – both his ability to sleep and this feeling that I was his mother and nothing else in the whole world mattered:
Throughout his babyhood, when he did this…
…I did this, and it felt like the most natural thing in the world:
But as I fell under the shadow of postpartum depression, I experienced some moments that right now live in me only as a tiny light that reflects my son’s amazing spirit; my memory of them is mostly through pictures:
This phase I do remember, and it lights me up. The fun and stimulation of that Jumperoo was a Wonder of the World to him and his unbridled joy was one to me:
I didn’t mourn his first birthday, but rejoiced in how far we’d come:
I did feel a piece of my heart crack when he had his first haircut though:
I have learned that discovering new traditions can be a beautiful thing. (Also, “Do, or do not, there is no try.”)
We’ve had a lot of these moments and sometimes I feel that my experience
as a mother has been defined by them:
But then we make it through another year:
And I remember that this is what matters:
Because regardless of how I feel a lot of the time, this is how he feels:
And that tells me most of what I need to know.
The best conversations with mothers always take place in silence,
when only the heart speaks. — Carrie Latet
