Saturday, May 11, 2013

My Name is Mama

Tomorrow is Mother's Day. In case you couldn't tell from the bajillions of people talking about it.

I was perusing my photos to find one of both me and my mom, and now I'm feeling awfully nostalgic. So many pictures of my mom, beaming with pride as she holds one of my little ones. Baby pictures of each child, pictures of me looking like I swallowed a beach ball. Going back and back, younger and younger, until I get to the first picture of Diva Girl, a 3D ultrasound of her perfect face.

To you? Looks like a sea monkey. To me? Perfection.

I never thought motherhood would be like this. So amazing and terrifying at the same time. No one ever told me that I would never feel like I had it all together, all figured out. That I would just be making it all up as I went along. And you better believe that no one told me, as I held my beautiful first child, that it was possible that one day she would have special needs. It was unthinkable.

Thank you for making me a Mama, Diva Girl

Now that I'm a mother with some years under my belt, I can't help but find new significance to Mother's Day. I wish I could throw my mother a parade. Because now I get it. I get that she probably didn't know what she was doing either. I get that she loved me so much she could never put it into words. I get that she worried about me and my future, that she still worries about me, and will until the day she takes her last breath. I get that in those awkward teenage years, she wasn't lying when she told me that I was beautiful- to her, the goofy hair and awkward limbs didn't change that I was perfect in her eyes. I get that she sacrificed for us, that she hurt for us, and even then she doesn't regret us for a second. I get why she still calls me her baby.

My Mama and Rascal

I often worry about what my kids will think of me one day. Will they resent the decisions we've made for their treatment? Will they remember the time I spent in front of the computer instead of the time I spent reading to and playing with them? Will they focus on the times that I've lost my temper instead of the times I've cuddled with them? Will they wish that I had been nicer, prettier, smarter, stronger?

Right now, no matter what I do, they call me Mama, and they say it as though Mama is something perfect and precious and wonderful. I don't think I can ever live up to the way they say Mama. But I take comfort in one thing- I know my mom isn't perfect, but she is my best friend. I can't go more than three days without talking to her. She is my cheerleader, my guardian Mama. If I end up as half as amazing as she is, I'll consider that a win. I just hope that my kids won't compare me too much to Grandma....because I'm pretty sure she has that one in the bag.

If I end up half as pretty as her, I'll be thrilled!

So, from one imperfect mother to another, Happy Mama's Day!

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