Mother's Day

Sunday was my first Mother's Day and I have to say it's better than my birthday. If you know me, you know I have always loved my birthday. The day before I got a bouquet of roses that still are simply beautiful. On Sunday, we woke up in the morning and I got presents! All of which were sweet,  thoughtful and still make me have a silly smile. The card from Lydia was perfect and so was the one from Eliot. Then Eliot made waffles with berries on top and lattes for breakfast. We did a little shopping mostly for my curls (more on this later.) We came back home to meet my parents. Eliot made a tasty late lunch on the barbie and we all hung out. It was a laid back day which is exactly what we needed. It was nice to enjoy our little family. It did feel like I had entered a secret club however, now as I reflect on how I feel as a mom or how I may be different as a mother, my mind goes blank.

I am not sure that I have become different because I now wear the hat of "Mother" but that it has simply become an extension of who I have always been. It is possible that I feel like I have more clear ideas about what I think is right and wrong, but I think that comes with age rather than parenthood. I wake up a little earlier than I used to and go to sleep earlier too, but I think that comes with age as well. I am still silly. I am still sarcastic. I am still a devoted daughter, teacher and friend. Is motherhood meant to simply be a different manifestation of you? Or is motherhood suppose to ignite a metamorphosis of sorts? Oh dear. Buddha is it possible that it's a middle way?

There have been many manifestations of me through the years and I am not always so sure that they can co-exist with what I have always imagined motherhood to be. For example, the "college me" would not have been very good at motherhood. In 1997, I wouldn't name my cat because I felt that naming it could possibly project a possible limitation on the character of the cat and I certainly was not going to be responsible for squelching the spirit of the cat. The imposition of labeling would ultimately define the identity of the cat and what if it didn't want to be Fluffy or Sparky what if it just wanted to be Ralph? Imagine poor Lydia without a name? The cat ended up having to leave because we refused to pay the deposit to keep our animal trapped in doors with us. Sigh. We were so deep.

Nevertheless, over time I have become really comfortable in who I am, and though sometimes I am not so sure I feel like a mom, I am pretty luckily and ridiculously thrilled to be one.