Celebrating my groove
I see celebrations as a way to recognize something special, as well as an excuse to make some happy memories. When each of my kids turned one, I wanted to celebrate that miracle milestone of landing on the shores of toddlerhood. But let’s be clear, it was also a party for me! Making it through the pregnancy and the first year was a watershed experience for me — both times. I was completely shocked by the skin I had to shed to commit myself to mother in the only way I could conceive possible: consciously, with my eyes wide open.
Staring at Mother’s Day on the calendar I feel much the same way. I want to celebrate the way Michael is a scrumptious two year old — singing songs before we’re even out of bed; hiding under the covers from his big sister’s “giant” footsteps coming up the stairs every morning; and wandering around our property exploring how rocks and sticks act as projectiles into water. I want to bottle the excitement Kate overflows with as she imagines her 4th birthday — that perceived mythical advancement for a three year old in the quest to be big. They are both exactly where they should be — the only place they can be — and I feel pride oozing out my pores. I know it’s a Mommy thing.
Like every mother, what I want for Mother’s Day is a little extra sleep, a nice meal I do not have to plan or prepare and to have some time to breathe a huge sigh of relief that I don’t think I’ve screwed-up anything major for them yet. I have some pretty ambivalent feelings about some of my choices — like whether or not to vaccinate them when I had that icky, sinking feeling that while I’m protecting them I’m irreparably polluting their bodies — but I store those in the mental file I call “best decision with available information”. I try to store them free of guilt and lock away the fears associated with them too. I know, one way or another, my kids will decide how well my decisions played out in their lives. So this Mother’s Day while I shuffle aside momentarily the unsettling feeling that there are yet many more decisions coming along to knock me out of my groove, I choose to celebrate the ways I know I’ve helped them along their journey.
Decisions to be happy with (and their all-important context):
- Reserving weekends for family time in the country and break from over-stimulating modern living (with a portable DVD player stashed nearby in case of emergency, like days of endless rain)
- Listening to them (even as I silence my inner-nag)
- Letting Kate feel the temperature and choose her own clothes (even when the dress too summery for 8 degrees Celsius
- Using the correct words (even though it meant explaining that “crotch” might be more socially appropriate than “labia” when complaining about droopy tights at school)
- Moving Michael out of his crib (so I could stop fearing his dangerous imitation of a Navy Seal stealthily dropping to the floor and silently appearing at my bedside in the darkness)
- Celebrating being their Mommy (because it’s soo good!)