Happy Mother's Day!

As I browsed the web trying to find the perfect mother's day poem, I couldn't find one that said exactly what my mother means to me.  Recently I've found out that you never fully appreciate your mother until you become a mother yourself.  It brings a whole new meaning to mother-daughter relationships. It makes me want to go back in time and tell my mom thank you more often although I don't think thank you is a strong enough word.  I've only been a mom for 109 days as of today (yes, I counted) and so far I can't think of a more rewarding, joyous, fulfilling job. It's by far the hardest job I have ever had. The responsibility that comes with raising a child is overwhelming.  I am constantly worrying about Campbell-- from "is she sleeping too much? Are you sure she's healthy? Am I being a good mom to her? Why is she crying? Is something hurting her?" and like I said it's only been 109 days! I know the worrying is only going to get worse also. I can't imagine when the issues get more serious and she starts to drive and date and go off to college.  I just don't know how my mom did it! She was always there nurturing us and teaching us right from wrong.  She still is and I'm almost 29 years old.  I have to talk to my mom everyday or something is missing in my day.  She's the center of the family-- the one person we all confide in, lead on, laugh with, the 1st person we all call. 

Do you watch Brothers and Sisters on ABC? My mom is like Nora-- only much younger. Perfect is almost every way.  Always has everything together.  She's got a heart of gold.  She never fails to make sure we all have our "favorite" meal(s) when we come home.  Everything is made from stratch even if she has to stay up all night cooking it.  She's constantly telling us how much she loves us and how special we are to her.  She jumps in the car and comes to our rescue whether she's 5,000 miles away or 5 minutes-- she's there no questions asked. She gives me advice (whether I ask for it or not). She's been my best friend since as long as I can remember. She's a pillar in our community and church.  She is always helping the less fortunate. She loves her parents, brothers and all her family members with all her heart and you see it in actions.

I don't know how she does it but she is such an inspiration.  I don't think people give enough credit to the mothers of the world.  It's a hard job.  I know I didn't fully appreciate everything my mom has done for me until recently.  It's exhausting being a mom! Whether you stay at home with the kids or go to work-- it's not easy because everyone always counts on the mother. 

Did I mention she's always right? My sister and I laugh because whether we want to admit it or not, our mother is always right. I find myself wanting to be just like her.  My sister even said the other day that she thought my cooking was getting to be almost as good as our moms.  I hope someday Campbell will think as highly of me as I do of my mom.  She's incredible and I love her so much!

Below is a story I found on the internet of a mother and daughter. It's long but worth reading.  It made me cry (not good when you are already an emotional basket case from having a baby).

"Being a Mom"

We are sitting at lunch one day when my daughter casually mentions that she and her husband are thinking of "starting a family."

"We're taking a survey," she says half-joking. "Do you think I should have a baby?"
"It will change your life," I say, carefully keeping my tone neutral.
"I know," she says, "no more sleeping in on weekends, no more spontaneous vacations."

But that is not what I meant at all. I look at my daughter, trying to decide what to tell her. I want her to know what she will never learn in childbirth classes.

I want to tell her that the physical wounds of child bearing will heal, but becoming a mother will leave her with an emotional wound so raw that she will forever be vulnerable.

I consider warning her that she will never again read a newspaper without asking, "What if that had been MY child?", that every plane crash, every house fire will haunt her, that when she sees pictures of starving children, she will wonder if anything could be worse than watching your child hurt.

I look at her carefully manicured nails and stylish suit and think that no matter how sophisticated she is, becoming a mother will reduce her to the primitive level of a bear protecting her cub, that an urgent call of "Mom!" will cause her to drop a soufflé or her best crystal without a moments hesitation.

I feel that I should warn her that no matter how many years she has invested in her career, she will be professionally derailed by motherhood. She might arrange for childcare, but one day she will be going into an important business meeting and she will think of her baby's sweet smell. She will have to use every ounce of discipline to keep from running home, just to make sure her baby is all right.

I want my daughter to know that every day decisions will no longer be routine.

That a five year old boy's desire to go to the men's room rather than the women's at McDonald's will become a major dilemma. That right there, in the midst of clattering trays and screaming children, issues of independence and gender identity will be weighed against the prospect that a child molester may be lurking in that restroom.

However decisive she may be at the office, she will second-guess herself constantly as a mother.

Looking at my attractive daughter, I want to assure her that eventually she will shed the pounds of pregnancy, but she will never feel the same about herself.

That her life, now so important, will be of less value to her once she has a child. That she would give herself up in a moment to save her offspring, but will also begin to hope for more years, not to accomplish her own dreams, but to watch her child accomplish theirs.

I want her to k now that a cesarean scar or shiny stretch marks will become badges of honor. My daughter's relationship with her husband will change, but not in the way she thinks.

I wish she could understand how much more you can love a man who is careful to powder the baby or who never hesitates to play with his child. I think she should know that she will fall in love with him again for reasons she would now find very unromantic.

I wish my daughter could sense the bond she will feel with women throughout history who have tried to stop war, prejudice and drunk driving.

I want to describe to my daughter the exhilaration of seeing your child learn to ride a bike. I want to capture for her the belly laugh of a baby who is touching the soft fur of a dog or cat for the first time. I want her to taste the joy that is so real it actually hurts.

My daughter's quizzical look makes me realize that tears have formed in my eyes. "You'll never regret it," I finally say. Then I reached across the table, squeezed my daughter's hand and offered a silent prayer for her, and for me, and for all the mere mortal women who stumble their way into this most wonderful of callings.