My own children are blessed to be surrounded by incredible examples. The kind of people I want to influence them. Coaches, teachers, friends; the list is long and filled with men and women I am proud to know. But they aren’t me. Contrary to what Ms. Lamott thinks, they WON’T have the level of “love and self-sacrifice” I do. And it’s precisely because I AM their mother; the only one they’ll ever have. No one will love them in the way that I do.
Nearly fifteen years ago I received a call from the pediatrician. He asked if I was sitting and he asked if I was alone. I steeled myself for what I already knew was coming. The blood work came back. My two week old baby had Down syndrome. The tears spilled down my cheeks before I even hung up. I was alone in that moment with my girl. There isn’t a person on this earth that could have felt for her what I did right then. Overwhelming love, determination to give her the life I knew she deserved. The tears were not of sorrow but of the fierce instinct to protect. Only a mother can feel that.
I will celebrate this Mother’s Day like I have the last fifteen. I will enjoy the sloppy cards brought home from school. I will get a day off from dishes and laundry, but I’ll do them anyway. I will enjoy the coffee delivered with a kiss, even if I have to wipe up what was spilled on the floor. I will eat the eggs my children make for me, even though I hate eggs. Because it’s what moms do.
I’m not going to apologize for celebrating a day that others view as selfish. Jessica Lange is right. Motherhood isn’t about me. It’s about three children that have my eyes, my stubbornness, and my whole heart.
Image: “Motherhood”: Sculpture at the Catacumba Park, Rio de Janeiro, Brazil; source Nelly Romeo Alves;
author: picture taken by Eurico Zimbres; Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 2.5 Generic license
