I think I finally understand the true meaning of Mother’s Day.
Growing up, I knew Mother’s Day to be a day where we put our handprints on construction paper and told her how much we appreciated everything she did for us. We went out to brunch after church and we took pictures on the front steps. We were usually dressed up and someone was crying. Families with 4 kids, you understand. As I got a little older, my handprints turned into letters declaring my love and gratitude.
It wasn’t that I was wrong. Mother’s Day is about telling your mom how much you love her and that her time and efforts spent keeping the bathrooms clean and keeping everyone fed do not go unnoticed.
But I’m a mother now, and Mother’s Day meant so much more than that. Especially my first.
I woke up to an email from my husband – he knows I’ll be on my phone first thing. He had written me a note at midnight, the first person to wish me a happy first Mother’s Day, and the one who matters most. He bought me necklaces – one with my daughter’s birthstone and one with her birth date. I’d had input, but he appreciated knowing what I wanted. He walked the dog and started N’s bottle, to let me sleep in. He made pancakes and bacon while I held my daughter close and drank my coffee. Throughout the day I received unexpected texts and messages from friends and family, wishing me a happy Mother’s Day. These mothers, they know, they understand.
We went to my parents’ house for dinner, took pictures of three generations, my mom and I suddenly looking at each other with new perspective.
You see, what I now realize is that your first Mother’s Day is not about the mother you are. (Let’s face it, I’m still learning how to be a mother.) It’s actually about the mother you’ve become. It’s about the transformation. It’s about the woman who has gone through this epic change. I am now this mother, who will never be the same person I once was. I have sacrificed everything, I will give up everything for my child. I have discovered this fierce love, and I am irrevocably new, simultaneously torn apart and made whole. I am this mother who now lives with my heart wandering the world in the shape of a tiny human. This mother whose chest tightens with worry, fear, regret, heartache, hope, awe, and love.
The first Mother’s Day is about celebrating everything that made you a mother. Pregnancy, labor, delivery, birth, recovery. Everything is a first. First sleepless nights, first cry, first smile, first blowout, first fever, first trip to the ER, first babbles, first spit-ups, first roll over, first laugh.
You’ve never done this before. You are doing it. You are learning to be a mother. You might be thriving. You might struggling. You are surviving.
I look into my daughter’s eyes and when she looks back that’s all the confirmation I need to know that I am a good mom. Her smile says that I am doing something right. When she falls asleep in my arms, I know that I am enough. The endless, bone-deep love I feel for her is something I couldn’t have ever imagined. It is all I need this Mother’s Day. Not the jewelry, not the massages, not the free pass from chores or responsibility. Just this, just knowing that this little fuzzy-headed, grayblue-eyed girl made me a mother.
Every Mother’s Day after this will be different. Maybe I will want a day to myself. Maybe I will need a massage. Maybe my daughter will hand me a piece of construction paper with her handprint on it and I will burst into tears. Whatever the case, Mother’s Day will change. My child will tell me how much she loves me and she will thank me for doing all her laundry. My husband will tell me what a wonderful mom I am.
But nothing will compare to this year. This is the year I became a mother. There is only one first Mother’s Day. This is the day – no, the year – to celebrate this radical transformation as I make mistakes, learn, and grow into the mom, and woman, I am meant to be.
Other moms, you understand.