Mother’s Day for the Other Mothers

Once upon a time I was a young, single, carefree girl with no one to really care about except myself. I am an only child so I never had any nieces or nephews to hug and coo over and to hold and admire.

In fact I couldn’t understand how anyone found newborns so gosh darn cute. Everyone always wanted to hold them and ooh and aah over them. Whenever a girlfriend had a baby I would feign interest and put my Oh what an adorable baby face on and hope like heck they wouldn’t ask me if I wanted to hold the little dear.

Unfortunately my new mommy girlfriends would zero in on me just like the family cat who immediately senses which of the guests in the house is “allergic” to cats and thereby promptly curls itself around the guest’s feet or horror of horrors jumps into said person’s lap.

I always wondered if it was some sort of psychic awareness on the infant’s part that I was not impressed with him or her and therefore I was the chosen one to be vomited upon. Truly! All my friends could hold and cuddle these cunning little creatures but I was always the recipient of the projectile vomiting that would make Regan in The Exorcist look like an amateur vomiter.

Ok so perhaps the baby picked up my vibes and was upset because the baby intuited that he/she was in the hands of the devil.

I tried. I really did try to understand what all the fuss was about these vulnerable little mini humans who had big fat cheeks, double chins and some who were quite bald. Those descriptors never fit my concept of cute.  Not by a long shot.

Fast forward several years – three and one-half years after my marriage – when I found myself the mother of the absolutely most beautiful baby ever conceived.  Was he bald? Of course not. He was just follically challenged.  His nose was just perfect accompanied by the most darling rosebud mouth.   His rolls of fat were just extra places for me to tickle.

His smell!  He had the sweetest smell in the world.  Even his vomit was sweet.  The little gurgling sounds that he made were better than any symphony could produce. He was just perfect and I would dare anyone to say differently.

Then 17 ½ months later I gave birth to another downright perfect little human being. While I was pregnant I had worried that I could not love another baby as much as I loved my first born.  A wise mom told me not to worry.  She said when your second child is born your love will split in two and you’ll love both of them equally.

She was absolutely correct. I was now the mom of two of the most beautiful, wonderful babies whom I loved with every piece of my heart.

My children taught me so much about myself. They changed me from a cute baby doubter to a total believer in their adorableness and also the worth of others. Their fragility and vulnerability taught me how to care about others in the world.

As they grew they taught me about being selfless.  They taught me how to think like a child again, how to put housework aside and play with abandon.  They taught me the meaning of unconditional love…and they taught me how to worry. 

All other worries are immediately cast aside once you become a mom. My worries about them escalated into the stratosphere of worrydom.  I would register a 10 on any Worryometer.

My youngest son also taught me the meaning of despair and abject heartbreak, when he passed away on December 1, 2002 at the age of 31.  He was a paramedic and an RN who wanted to be a physician.  Those dreams will never come to fruition and a part of my future has been stolen from me. He was a great son, as is his brother. Unfortunately life dealt him a blow and he died from a drug overdose after battling addiction for 14 years.

On Mother’s Day I celebrated this special day set aside for us moms.  I am blessed to have my oldest son, the one who is responsible for making me a mother for the first time. I rejoiced that I still have him. He’s a wonderful loving son and I’m so proud of him, just as I was proud of his brother.

So on Mother’s Day while most of the other mothers were surrounded by their progeny, enjoying a nice family dinner at home or perhaps at a restaurant, they were unaware of those of us who spent the day with a dichotomy of emotions – of joy and gratitude and wistfulness and sadness.

The pleasant greeting of Happy Mother’s Day brought a smile to our faces and an ache in our hearts.

My living son has taught me how to go on in the face of heartbreak and has taught me to live for today for today is all we have.

My youngest son’s death has taught me to never, ever, as long as I live, take life and love for granted. I’ve learned to never be ashamed of a child with an unacceptable disease but to hold them tight and love them and do all that you can to help them.  

I look back now on those carefree, single days and chuckle about my previously held views of newborns.  Because I’ve learned that babies are indeed beautiful and there is nothing in the world that can compare to holding them over your shoulder, listening to the wonderful little sounds they make, inhaling their sweetness and holding them to your breast as you give them sustenance.

My children taught me how to be a mom!