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In Which Mothers Day And I Bury The Hatchet, Or Die Trying I have determined that for my husband's own good, he should no longer be allowed to buy gifts for people any more than five hours in advance of go-time. It is just too much excitement for him to handle.

See: last Christmas.

Yesterday he came home from studying and plopped himself on the couch next to me.

"How was your day?" he asked, knowing full well how my day was because he was with me for most of it, and also because my days are practically all exactly the same lately.

"Well, I slept in, and then you wanted lunch so we went out, and then you went back to study and I did laundry, and then now you are home, and in a little bit we will watch Jeopardy!, followed by House reruns, and then Grey's reruns, and then, if we're lucky, Ghost Whisperer reruns."

And then Brandon shouted:

"I just got you a Mother's Day Gift!"

And then he hid his face with his hands. "Why am I so bad at this?"

This is how the rest of the conversation went:

"Do you want to open it now, or do you want to wait until Sunday?"

"Well . . ."

"Oh! Do we have any bacon?"

So, it is Mother's Day today. A pair of earrings in the baby's birthstone, and lots of kisses from the husband and dogs while I ate my breakfast in my bed in my undies. And then I got a call from my sister, who, in a Mother's Day Tragedy, had just broken up with her boyfriend (Mother's Day giveth and Mother's Day taketh away . . .).

But you know, even with a legitimate baby going on in here and the husband of a lifetime, I am just not sold on Mother's Day. Maybe Mother's Day is something I will have to be eased into slowly?

I mean, I may not have baby in my arms, but I am a mother. I was put here to mother. But also, motherhood is not for everyone, and a woman's worth can NOT be predicated on whether or not she is a mother (or even whether or not she is a good mother). That is too simple a summary for such a complicated gender.  And anyway, I don't know.

I suppose I just question what it even means to be a mother anymore. To have pushed someone out of your nethers, or to have someone surgically removed from your abdomen? Is that a mother? Or is it what you do that makes you a mother? Mothering a child, certainly -- but, any child? Your own child or does someone else's count? How old does the child have to be? And what about our dogs? Your little brother when he calls late at night?  Your own mother when she is not able to care for herself anymore?

I suppose I have a problem with the idea that just by getting knocked up you deserve some kind of recognition, and that if you haven't been that somehow you don't qualify.  But obviously this is coming from a sore place.

I think Mother's Day at church takes the cake.

"God must really love me to give me these children!"
"I don't think you can truly understand the Plan of Salvation until you become a mother!"
"Seeing my wife become a mother made me love her so much more than I could have before!"
"Blah, Blah, Sucks To Be You."


I suppose I will never bury this hatchet. So instead I move we make Mother's Day an all-inclusive holiday. Do you have a Mother's heart? Then this day is for you! I don't care if you are mothering a goldfish. LABELS: BABIES, thoughts on life



