Mother’s day is coming up, and it’s my first true one. I was barely pregnant last year, and certainly felt like I deserved a little recognition for how horrible the pregnancy was. Not much, maybe, but a little. But now that I’m actually doing the mothering, I feel differently about it.
I didn’t expect to. I expected that I’d want recognition for the sleepless nights and the spit up all over every pair of pants I own. And the screaming. We can’t forget the screaming.
The thing is, it feels like accepting accolades for eating brownies. The gift has already been all mine. The giggling and shrieking for joy; the way he chats to his feet in the mornings; his little velvet head; the way he grins when he sees me… All of it is wonderful. Even the bad moments have their magic – like when he finally tucks his face into my neck with a desperate sigh after screaming for one reason or another. I get to be the one he clings to.
It feels weird to accept praise for something I enjoy so much. It feels like I should be the one recognizing this boy for making me a mother in the first place.
I mean, don’t get me wrong. I’ll take it. But I’ll be feeling weird about it as I do. I know I always appreciate the chance to thank all the people who have mothered me and mine, though, so I’m sure I’ll find my way through it. Maybe. I guess.
I mean, accolades for eating brownies is a pretty great concept. Just saying.