Every day is mother’s day.

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I had a few wishes for mother’s day…

-clear skies so we could head to my favorite park, after grabbing lunch at my favorite falafel place

-delivery of the outdoor dining set I ordered earlier that week so we could eat dinner outside, still hoping to speak clear skies into existence

-to *maybe* have our meeting with our hopeful son suddenly moved up so I could know him for mother’s day

 

It poured. It was absolutely a muddy, disgusting, dreary day. The day before our little one had an allergic reaction to medication he was on for a scary eye infection (periorbital cellulitis) so we had spent the evening in urgent care. I had been scheduled to pick up my son’s new cello Saturday, but since we were having a little toddler health emergency, I had to do it instead on Sunday. Meeting #10 would still be two weeks away. I had an allergy cough that made me pee in my pants. I had to cancel my much longed for and much anticipated Monday massage because the toddler was in such bad shape. My period started. All in all, it was not a dramatically fun, meaningful, magical day.

I’ve been a mom for 18 years. Before she was here, in my arms, I lost a baby and I felt like all of my dreams were lost with him. Every day since, every loud and sometimes smelly and always messy and chaotic day since has felt like a borrowed gift. I actually cannot believe they are mine. I cannot believe the grace and luck and crazy turn of events that have led to me being a mom who gets to drive in rain and traffic to pick up a cello. Who gets to sit with her babies in the cozy basement of her home and watch movies, candles flickering, us all cuddled under an abundance of blankets. Who gets to shop her favorite websites during naps to design a space for her tenth precious child while her other little ones nap beside her. Who gets to collect handmade cards from her little people and watch how excited they were to spend their allowance on small gifts. Who gets to be the one all of these young people bring their stories and complaints, fears and hopes, corny jokes and sibling grievances to. Who call me things like “my person” and “my treasure” and the long coveted “mommy” I used to wonder if I would ever be titled.

I get to be the one. Eighteen years in, it’s still unbelievable to me. Absolutely incredible.

People ask me for advice on motherhood often and sometimes I find that it all sounds trite. We all have different walks and we all have different challenges, but I think that in moments of clarity, often found in very un-special days, I realize that the greatest gift that was born from the loss I’ve experienced is that it cultivated in my heart a spirit of finding the magic in the mundane.  Every moment of motherhood is precious, because every moment is limited. You can only be their everything for so long. Today, and Mother’s day, and every day is a good day to celebrate being a mother.

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