Happy Mothers Day to me!

A week from now it will be Mothering Sunday in the UK.  Facebook is predictably going to be strewn with the usual status updates, photos and gushing of ‘ooooh look what I got’ ‘look what my little shits darlings (edited for the occasion because who can be cross with a chubby little fist clasping a floppy daffodil that daddy has plucked from the garden in a panic) brought me’ and ‘ugh one day of the year that’s MY day and i’m still doing the early morning/childcare/housework/cooking/insert further whinging here’.  There will be posts berating Daddies for their lack of ‘effort’ (because their psychic powers didn’t pick up that a Pandora bracelet is better than a steam mop – although a man using a steam mop = pretty damn hot… hint hint).  Posts full of complaint, feelings of being ‘let down’ or hard done by.  Posts sprayed with glitter and glitz for the audience intended that forgot to add fragrance to mask the stench of bullshit.

Being in this special needs community I have many friends whose children are no longer with us, but they are still mothers and will be for all time.  Their children leave a gap that can never be filled and days like mothers day are tough – but these women are masters of putting on their game face despite their hearts breaking inside.  There are countless mothers who have never heard their child’s little voice call for his Mama, or scrawled their name on your important work documents home made cards from nursery – and never will.  It’s hard.  It hurts. 

Our hubbies, partners,  extended families might do their best to make it a special day for us – but none of them can give us what we really want – we want them to be the little shits darlings with the ‘mummy mummy mummy mummy MUMMY!!!’ on your ear at 6am – hell to be able to get themselves out of their bed and into yours would just be AMAZING!  For their little arms to snake around your neck and throttle you cuddle, for those chubby little fingers to fiddle with that magic bit of hair at the nape of your neck.  For the only daffodil in the garden that actually produced a flower to be unceremoniously ripped up and plonked in a pint glass alongside a piss weak cup of tea and a half eaten piece of toast (just testing it was ok mumma) and presented as ‘breakfast in bed’ – which despite dying for the loo Mummy must smile and sit and eat it.  We want to be handed the minging beautiful decorated cupcake/cookies from school and we want the family outing without having to take the house with us.

So I propose a shift in focus this mothers day. 
Let’s make it a true day of celebration.  Let’s celebrate ourselves, and each other. 
Let’s embrace all that makes us wonderful – without relying on other people to tell us that we are.

Our children are blessings and teach us so many amazing things.  We gain strength we never knew possible, gather information and knowledge that turns us into oracles.  Can fix so many booboos and problems.  We can multitasking and micromanage at a level we could never manage to do for ourselves.  We are (amongst others) housekeepers, launderers, cooks, drivers, nurses, pharmacists,  teachers, bankers, entertainers, interior decorators, play therapists,  speech and language therapists,  physiotherapists,  occupational therapists, carers, we play so many roles and transition seamlessly from one to the next.   It may seem like we’re juggling cacti at times but we get there in the end and as long as everyone is fed and smiling the rest just works itself out.

WE ARE INCREDIBLE – but we’re just rubbish at allowing ourselves to feel good about ourselves – too busy making sure everyone else is ok and worrying what hasn’t been done or needs doing.

This Mother’s Day I’ll be doing what I was doing last year – sitting in hospital with The Bear, and this year with Bug too. Daddy is going to be in hospital in another city after surgery so it’ll just be me and my boys – and I couldn’t be happier – what a blessing it is to have my babies close, to hold their hands, stroke their hair, sing silly songs and tell stories. I have never been called Mama, or had my face squished by to little pudgy hands so a kiss can be given, but I know they love me – and that is the single most wonderful gift I could ever receive.

So next Sunday be humble, be gracious, remember those for whom this day is difficult and give yourself five minutes just to reflect on how awesome you are – because no matter how much you think you aren’t – you are!