I have to be quick and not very eloquent because stolen internet is not easy to keep.
I've been thinking about babies and children and motherhood a lot recently. I'm not pregnant, of course, but the spell of yearning was cast on me early in life and recently it has become much greater. At times, my arms tremble for a newborn, and I look at photos of my past and of babies that could be mine and I want to cry in anticipation.
My mom felt this same way. For years, throughout her twenties, she could not have a baby. She bought a doll, and secretly pretended that she had a child. When the stiff, fake doll would not cut it, she babysat for others so she could hold soft baby flesh against her skin. She smelled the sweet smell of a newborn, and I know if I were her, at that moment, I would have cried.
Eventually, I was born. I do not know precisely how she felt at that moment, after struggling through the painful hours of childbirth, through the months of anticipation of a first pregnancy, and through the long years of limp, childless arms, but I can almost taste that joy. There I was. Her baby. Her own flesh and blood, her own creation, her own responsibility, within her arms, on her chest, small head against breast. I want to cry. That joy seems intoxicating, calming, overwhelming.
This joy did not fade, she had a large family, just as she wanted, but she had to struggle through many trials. She had to live through an alcoholic and abusive husband, a man that has very little paternal instincts. She had to leave him, face the headfirst plummet into raising five kids on her own, after being a stay-at-home mom for twelve years. Life gets better, of course. But now my mom still has other trials to face--as Rickie, my youngest brother has just recently been diagnosed with cystic fibrosis.
Being a mother is not easy. And yet, this is what my mom is--first and foremost. This is what she has always wanted; this is what she had been waiting for for years upon years. I am not sure how a single day could ever recognize the complexity and emotion of motherhood.
I love you, Mommy. Happy Mother's Day!
P.S. I know you wanted something humorous, but I write what comes out of my fingers, nothing more, nothing less.