Post Mother's Day Post

Mother's Day is not a holiday I opted into.  One day, all of sudden, I was a member of this club - the mom club - and whether I liked it or not, this holiday became mine.  I absolutely adore my daughter, but most of the time I still feel odd calling myself "mom."

I had in mind that Mother's Day had to be celebrated like an episode of some show on Nick at Nite: mom is handed bacon, eggs, toast and a full glass of orange juice in bed and in a suburban sprawler where she has her own room just for laundry.  And she does laundry a lot.  And I didn't want bacon and don't particularly crave orange juice in the morning and definitely don't enjoy laundry.

Over and over again throughout pregnancy and new motherhood I have come up against these stereotypical scenes that live somewhere in me: ways that mothers should act, speak, dress, and be with themselves and their children.  And rarely has that image fit me and my life; so sometimes I wonder if I need to change, or if I'm doing it wrong, or if I need an alternative title other than "mother."

And then, as many times as I ask those questions, I learn that I can be both myself and be a mom.   Because it's really about loving my little girl authentically.  Mother's Day yesterday was yet another brilliant example that this is possible and is good.

For breakfast, I was poured a green smoothie and a glass of champagne.

And the Non-Scotsman took me to Essenza where he bought me this gorgeous lilac perfume I've been eyeing by Ineke.

Followed by a crab dinner at Westward with friends. As I drove home from dinner, smelling like late spring, I realized that Mother's Day felt tailor-made to me and I had enjoyed every second of it.
Not only that, I had shared it all day (via phone and texts mostly) with friends around the country who were also honoring their new roles as mom - this connecting was perhaps one of the best perks of the holiday.

And most importantly, all of this celebrating happened with my little girl on my hip, making me laugh and wanting to be close.  All this womanhood had occurred simultaneous to my motherhood.  

No burned breakfast in a laundry-filled bed here.

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