Mothers

I am lucky enough to count myself among the group of women that call themselves mothers. We are often a rag-tag bunch. We are often spotted frantically rushing the children into school, with our hair tied into a nappy mess on top of our heads and our uniform of yoga pants and t-shirts. It is hard to imagine that we might actually clean up pretty well. The children can’t even imagine that someone (namely their Dad, or anyone else for that matter) once found us attractive.

We live on practical terms. We don’t have time or energy for frilly things. This doesn’t mean we don’t like them. It means that those things don’t often find a way into our everyday lives. We more often than not would be seen wearing a macaroni necklace or a sparkly sticker than diamonds and jewels. It’s OK. We like it that way. They were given to us with love and we wear them like badges of honor.

We have managed to memorize all the names of dinosaurs, superheros, princesses, or rocks or whatever it is that our children are obsessing about at the moment. We have suffered through endless conversations centered on Sponge Bob. We put a smile on our faces when we have to listen to the EXACT dialog from their favorite movie, even though we just sat through it with them for the gazillionth time.

We dream of dinners out where someone else is cooking an orgasm-worthy meal. Where the wait staff don’t make us feel guilty for actually being waited on… for a change. We can’t begin to imagine when this will all take place, but we dream about it anyway. Instead, we happily tuck into mac ‘n’ cheese, because that is what the crowd is calling for and we can’t handle a coupe right now. Peace is highly underrated.

We dream about sleep. LOTS AND LOTS of sleep. But crazily enough, when we actually get it, we feel like we have a hang-over because we are so used to running on very little sleep that having more than 6 hours induces a headache. We still like to talk about this little luxury, even though we know it won’t happen. It is another badge of motherhood. One that all our compatriots understand all too well.

Mostly though, we like to dream about the wonderful life we actually already have with our kids. Mine often find me staring at them and are prompted to ask “What?!” and when I tell them I am just looking at their beautiful face, they get all like “Whatever, weirdo!” I know that I embarrass them. Sometime I do it on purpose even. OK, so I do it especially when I know that they are the ones being uptight. I hope that they will just look back on our time together, when they were kids and I was “old”, and think of me as nutty. Nutty, but in a good way. Love you kids!

And to Tom, I love you mostest infinity – you are why I am a mom. It was always more than dinner and a movie 🙂

Lastly, I often think of my own mother when I an knee-deep in being a mother myself. I realize, only now, how much work this all is; being a mom. My own mother had 6 children. I can only imagine! I literally owe you my life 🙂 I have noticed though, when my mom and I are together, we are less mother and child and more 2 mothers, sharing what that means to us both. Mom, wish you lived close enough for me to make you a lovely brunch. Love you!

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10 thoughts on “Mothers

  1. This was a not a post that a premenstrual woman (and mom) should have read… *wahh wahh*. It is, however, beautiful! Love you!

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