My husband called me yesterday from work and he asked me if I wanted to do anything for Mother’s Day. I laughed and said, “Who me? Am I a mother? How did that happen?”
Mothers are somebody else. They’re older, responsible, they dress different, they ACT different. Surely I can’t be like that? Surely I don’t ‘look‘ like a mother… right?
Mothers are people who work hard, they (some) go to work, they get tired, they sigh, they listen to constant chatter all day. Mothers wipe butts, tears and noses all day. Surely that can’t be me.
Mothers are people who dig in the garden, and scrub toilets and tiles. They listen to silly stories without judgement. Mothers are the first teacher, the first friend, the first doctor, the first everything.
Mothers are people who make pancakes on Sunday mornings while everyone waits at the table banging their forks on the table, waiting for the first batch. Surely that can’t be me.
Mothers are people who can make all the problems better. Mothers are the ones who fly around the house shoveling toys and clothes and food crumbs out of the way when guests come over. Mothers are the ones who can get everyone organised in five minutes, including themselves, and fly out the door in order to sort of make it on time to the dance lesson that they almost forgot about.
Mothers are people who can somehow throw together a meal, even when there’s nothing in the fridge.
Mothers are people who talk too long on the phone with their own mothers, while the kids scream in the background for you to get off the phone. We still don’t believe that we’re mothers, so talking to our own mother makes us feel like we’re talking to someone who knows what they’re doing. That was me the other day, but surely that can’t BE me, right?
Mothers have little people clinging to their pant legs and little heads buried in their chests all day. Mothers get frustrated and grumpy and bark sometimes. That can’t be me, right? I mean, I would never bark at anyone walking down the street, but my own kids, who are not much taller than my belly button, can drive me bonkers enough that it happens sometimes.
Sometimes I yell, “Everyone out of the kitchen!” and I swear that I hear my own mother’s voice saying the same thing. I mean gosh golly, where is the responsible adult here? It can’t be me… can it?
But, it’s a big joke, right? I’m not reeeeeeally a real real mother, am I? Even though I’ve been a mother for well over 5 years, I still don’t identify as one. Mothers are somebody else.
It makes sense though. The roles in our life are always changing. Although being a mother is a BIG GIGANTIC role, it’s just another role and it really doesn’t change who we are deep inside. I don’t think of myself as a ‘mother‘. I’m just ‘me‘ and I’m taking care of these little people who are growing and learning everyday. I’m contributing to a family like countless other mothers are doing and have done before me. One day, these little munchkins will grow up and they won’t need me like they do today. By then, I’m sure my idea of the role ‘mother‘ will change. Or who knows, maybe by then I’ll still feel like it’s other people who are the mothers… Because surely, it’s not me!?