gratitude-a-thon day 3010: call your mother

Things I did to become a mother:

  1. Have a year of tests, only to find out that the dull pain in my abdomen, was endometriosis. Or as the gynaecologist who did an exploratory laparoscopy told me, “Your insides are a mess, you’ll never have a baby
  2. Went to an in vitro clinic where the doctor made me think my “advanced age of 32.” was a dealbreaker and I ought to start looking for an Assisted Living facility stat.
  3. Spread my legs for more men with medical degrees than a sophisticated gold digger.
  4. Found a doctor whose vast infertility knowledge, surgical skills and kindness were as stellar as his bedside manner.
  5. Monitored my ovulation like the IRS monitors our tax records.
  6. Had sex with my husband even when A) We were having a fight. B) I wasn’t in the mood. C) I would rather have a full mouth of gum surgery.
  7. Was asked to “scooch down” more times than my math skills allow me to enumerate, became intimately acquainted with the vaginal ultra sound machine, kept the pregnancy test people in biz, had a hystosalpinagram, a miscarriage, a D&C, depression, anxiety and more sleepless nights than an infant mom.
  8. Cried more than all the new borns in all the nurseries throughout the Continental United States.
  9. Went to a 12-week mind body course with other women experiencing infertility, including an ex-therapist (!) where we’d share resources, do daily meditation, and cognitive restructuring, and sometimes just cry.
  10. Quit my job, hopped on a plane to Key West, drown myself in margaritas and had fun and constant unplanned sex with my husband.

Things I did while pregnant:

  1. Had more nausea than an entire group on a whale watch during a day of rough seas.(Five months worth for my first pregnancy and 8 months worth for my second, and that’s only because I gave birth a month early.)
  2. Craved watermelon, fettuccine Alfredo and McDonald’s supersize fries. And ate them with more gusto that group of drunken frat boys in Vegas.
  3. Worried incessantly I’d miscarry until the babies were IN. MY. ARMS.
  4. Wondered if I would actually be a good mom.
  5. Marvelled at my Macy Thanksgiving Day Parade-sized boobs and gargantuan stomach, while saying goodbye to my girlish figure.

Things I did when my kids were little:

  1. Stared IN AWE at the amazing humans I made with my husband. Fingers, toes and all the stuff!
  2. Managed not to actually hurt, insult, or maim anyone, despite a serious lack of sleep for 5 years.
  3. Breastfed while my nipples bled.
  4. Tried to keep up with my super-charged, inquisitive, A.D.D son. Forced my daughter to wear her hair on top of her head like Pebbles Flintstone.
  5. Kept every piece of paper either of my children drew anything on, like it was a Picasso, Monet, or John fucking Singer Sargent.
  6. Became a fixture at the park, like the slide and the swings.
  7. Made friends with other moms, some who I loved (and some who I didn’t).
  8. Took 1,088,4442 pictures of everything my kids did, just to get one great shot. (Ah, life before the iPhone.)
  9. Clutched my children’s hands with a death grip when we were anywhere near traffic.
  10. Read lots and lots and lots and lots and LOTS of books about, and to my kids.
  11. Played ref so my children wouldn’t kill each other, and worried incessantly I had the only brother and sister in the history of families who would never get along.(I WAS WRONG!)
  12. Figured out how to make interesting dinners consisting of pasta, hotdogs and bagels.
  13. Had, made, and monitored playdates, which we just called, “Wanna come over after school?” when I was little.
  14. Threw family dance parties to the likes of Bruce and Talking Heads.
  15. Went to the beach, (where I obsessively worried they’d drown).
  16. Attended every game, recital, play, parent night, school picnic, auction and teacher meeting there was.
  17. Stopped pursuing a big career, and settled for a smaller one.
  18. Learned more about myself than any graduate degree, job, Einstein, Confucius, or Stephen Hawking could ever teach me.
  19. Volunteered at school so much the staff thought I worked there. (I am still waiting for my pension.)
  20. Felt a kind of love that is indescribable, unbeatable, and so fucking big, even the Container Store doesn’t carry anything large enough to hold it.

Things I will always do for my kids:

  1. Be available to them. In the middle of the night, in the middle of a work thing, a vacation, a show, a surgery, sex, a migraine, an imaginary meeting with Barack & Michelle, Taylor Swift, Oprah, or James Taylor.
  2. Give them advice when I should just shut my pie hole.
  3. Think about them all day and night, every day and night.
  4. Want them to learn from my mistakes, but know that in a ridiculous catch-22 where your kids refuse to do anything you tell them to do, they have to make their own.
  5. Worry about them around the clock in every time zone.
  6. Be as wildly proud of their every move, as I was when they achieved freedom from diapers.
  7. Know that they have the moral character to care about other people, work hard and love deeply.
  8. Wish for them all the fun, adventure, magic, love and fulfilment available.
  9. Be there, even when I’m not.
  10. Know that, no matter what I’ve accomplished, or will ever create, Jake and Ally will always be the absolute best thing I’ve ever done.

To every single mom out there:

Whether you’re a bio mom, or an adoptive mom, a dog mom, or a guineau pig mom, a dad, aunt, sister, or friend mom, you’re amazing. Now go, and do something you love today. MWAH.

gratitude-a-thon day 2037: the mommy attachment

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Is it because my kid’s lived inside me for nine months that when they feel pain, I feel it too? I swear, when they are hurt emotionally, or physically, I get that in the middle of my chest and I want to throw up and scream and hold onto my heart so it doesn’t bust right out of me with the intensity of an asteroid (what a mess that would be).

There are so many things they don’t tell you in What to Expect When You’re Expecting, like how you will love in a way that is impossible to describe and bigger than the crowd in Time Square on New Year’s Eve, how your humanity will expand to eighty-two sizes larger than normal, how you will never again stop worrying, no matter how many fucking meditation tapes you listen to. There are no chapters on the fiery attachment that exists between mother and child. That book prepares your uterus, but not your heart.

And so it is, that once you have a child, you are in it. Oh, I am grateful for this epic roller coaster ride, don’t get me wrong, but sometimes I wish I could just leave the pain part at the door.

 

gratitude-a-thon day 589: to you, mom, the mother of all people

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Hey Moms,

It’s your day. You know why? Because you took on a role that is so daunting, so often thankless, and so gosh darn important, you have convinced society to celebrate you for 24 hours. You should actually be celebrated for, like, a fucking year, but a day is what you get, so, like you so often have to do, shut up and make the best of it.

We celebrate you today, mom. Whether you are a stay-at-home, a work-from-home, or work from work version, a biological, adopted, or friend-in-need type, today is the day that everybody tips their hat to you and your multi-tasking ability, your selflessness, your really good mac and cheese. Today is the day that your children will be taken by the police and put behind bars unless they have purchased, or made you a card. Some of you may get breakfast in bed, others may get to go out to dinner accompanied by your brood, still others may be receiving flora, fauna, or bling. This is your day to shine, and I’m not talking about the silver mama, so enjoy your moment.

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Today we stop and give thanks for your amazing ability to annoy and agitate. We put our hands together for your intuition, your guts, your sixth sense. We bow down to your laundry skills, and bed making prowess. Today we put you, however briefly, on a pedestal, for the way you grocery shop, and drive us to multiple locations while listening to music you hate. We envy your keen ability to make a boo boo go away with a kiss, and your reluctant acceptance of your post pregnancy body. We canonize you for always having to take out the dog, for letting us borrow your clothes (and ruin them), for continually having to empty the dishwasher. We treasure the way you can juggle life’s obligations with a kid on one hip and a career on the other. We adore you for nagging us to do our homework and clean our rooms, use manners, and take a shower, the stuff that will help us in our lives.

We especially commend you today, mom, for putting up with us, as we mature. We know we’re not that easy, and can be downright impossible. We marvel at your good nature, your generosity, and the way you have not given into the desire to smack us across the face on multiple occasions.

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You are a rock star. You are the unspoken hero of our lives. You are the most special person we know.

And today, we tell you, even though the rest of the days, we just carry it around it in our hearts.

Happy Mother’s Day, Moms, all of you, every last one of you. Today is yours. And you deserve it (and let’s face it, so much more, too).