Because Mother’s Day has been fraught with difficult emotions for me for a solid decade, I tend to dread it. Today went pretty well though, all things considered.
I didn’t feel my chest imploding and my eyes weeping when the Primary children sang to the congregation in Sacrament Meeting.
My two primary-aged boys were a) at home with a respite sitter (yes, this is a new, fabulous thing) and b) hiding facedown on my lap, too fearful of being in front of a crowd to join in the tribute to moms.
This time I didn’t see the children’s medley as something we will never be able to participate in, something beyond our reach. I saw it as something separate that other kids do. It was sweet to watch and totally outside our sphere. It had no negative effect on me.
It’s true that I am beyond blessed to have children. It is also true that raising the children I have is the challenge of my life.
Thinking about my daunting, endless task as the mom of kids with disabilities makes me tired and crabby. Hence, my general dislike of a day devoted to pondering motherhood.
But today was better. Instead of mulling my ongoing difficulties as a mom, I decided to think about Shirley and Joyce, my mom and MIL respectively. Instead of feeling underwater in the parenting department, I felt appreciative of the women who brought Dutch and I into the world.
I transposed all my Mother’s Day angst into reflection on my mothers. It was infinitely better.