From time to time I’ll be struck by a moment. It’s usually something completely ordinary—tickling my daughter to get a belly laugh, the “hi” we get from James every morning when we open his door, my husband reading books before bedtime. I memorize the way her eyes crinkle, his tiny fingers gripping the chewed up crib rail, the two pairs of feet side by side in Lydia’s twin bed. And I’m positive I’ll remember, force myself to etch it and save it and treasure it and pull all of those ordinary moments back up when my kids are too big to be held and too busy to play and too cool for their old mom.
I have a bunch of them saved up, in between all the other not-so-fond memories I’ve pushed to the bottom—the morning stress sessions and fights to get out the door on time, the if-you-don’t-get-your-hands-off-your-brother-I’ll-I’ll-I’ll…, the time outs and tears and failures. But luckily the good prevails and the kids sleep. I peek in every night and gaze longingly at their innocent little sleeping faces to erase all of the challenges of the day and no matter what morning brings (James digging through cupboards, Lydia’s
love, disconnections, misunderstandings, exhaustion), they are peaceful and
sweet and perfect.
Being a mom is not an easy job. I never knew guilt until I became a mom. I never truly appreciated my mom and how hard she worked, how much she loved us, how much she taught me until I became a mom. I never knew pressure until I became a mom. But I would have it no other way. Happy Mother’s Day. Here's to all of those perfectly, ordinary moments ahead.