I wrote this on my first mother’s day. That first year is so tough, and we had a bit of a rocky start anyway.
This year my little boy gave me a gift he made in preschool, along with a colored card. I get hugs and kisses and I hear “Moooom? Mom!” all day long, with some “I ruve you Mom”s thrown in there too. He is a busy kid, getting into everything all the time.
This year I got to sleep in late, and my husband had a hot cup of coffee waiting for me, smiles from him and the boy. A gift box wrapped in paper decorated by Wyatt. While Billy ran to the store for bagels, Wyatt and I took a spin around the living room to our favorite, Eric Church.
Anyway, I started thinking about that first mother’s day.
It began with an early morning poopy diaper. Bleary eyed, I tried to calm my son at an hour I hadn’t seen since college, way before having a baby. My movements hampered by sleep deprivation, my coordination and skills were all off, making cleaning him up and keeping the mess from spreading everywhere difficult. But we made it through and I was rewarded by bright eyes and a contented boy, who was also getting a bit hungry. I laid him back down while I went in search of his next bottle. Out of our premade formula, I opened the canister to find that there was not enough left to make another batch. Since my husband had stayed up longer with our son to give me a few more hours of sleep, I didn’t want to wake him for a trip to the store too. So that left me. After pulling on some random clothes from my bedroom floor, and running a brush through my crazy mop of messy hair, which only made it worse, I ran up to the CVS on the corner. I was surprised by the amount of men there, especially at this early hour – then I remembered it was Mother’s Day. The greetings cards and candy in the hands of the other patrons was a big tip.
My day fell into a gentle rhythm. Church with my mom and aunt, a nice ride around a pretty island with my husband and baby, followed by a ride through the park while rain fell around us. It felt cozy in that car, with the gentle rain shower splashing onto the windows, the three of us in the car together, safe and warm. It was like time could stand still, as we looked out the windows at the birds, the yellow fields of dandelions, families barbecuing despite the weather. Billy gave me a beautiful necklace, with Wyatt’s birthstone on it, along with an etched leaf with a “W” for Wyatt, which I love. But it was his gift of time spent with me that meant the most. Just us, no agenda, nothing which had to be done except enjoy the day slowly. Our lives are so busy most of the time now, squeezing in chores between feedings, doing all of the important business of living in rushed hours, but not really taking the time to enjoy what we are doing and who we are doing them with. My Mother’s Day gave me that time, to enjoy my small family, my boys. To remind me that every dirty diaper exists because my son does, when we never thought that we would have a child. My Mother’s Day might not have begun like a commercial holiday, with breakfast in bed, flowers, a clean kitchen. But it was real. Every dirty diaper, every last minute trip to the store, every minute of lost sleep are moments I rejoice in, for this boy is now in my life, and all that comes with him.
I still rejoice in every single minute with these two guys.
And this year, I did wake up to a clean kitchen.