Being a mom is weird.
So many days, I wake up wondering where the heck the responsible person who makes all the decisions is hiding. Then I remember that person is me.
I’m the responsible person.
I’m responsible for the wellbeing of not just myself but two small humans. They rely on me for everything. And the weight of that is not lost on me.
They rely on me to feed them, bathe them, clothe them, entertain them, protect them. Love them. And oh, do I love them.
But still, it’s wildly unnerving sometimes to understand – to fully understand – the gravity of this role called motherhood that I’ve taken on.
Wasn’t I a small child just the other day? Squeezing my tiny hand into my mother’s and trusting her to show me the way?
In my estimation, my mother knew everything. She still does. She always had an answer to every question I asked – or at least could help me find the answer when my curiosity got the best of both of us. She was brilliant and wise and kind and patient beyond words.
She held me when I cried. She slathered my childhood battle wounds in bright orange Betadine. She stood up for me when I was slighted. She made me feel pretty, smart, capable, strong.
Which is I guess how I ended up where I am today. Trying to do this whole mom thing myself. Because of her. Because she prepared me and showed me the way and gave me an example to follow.
What if I mess up? What if I do it wrong?
Some days are so unbelievably trying. When the toddler is a tiny tangle of arms and legs, a tantrum-maker of epic proportions. And the baby is teething and nothing I do seems to ease the pain. When I’m trying to be everywhere and everything and everyone at once.
But I guess that’s the whole thing, right? I don’t have to be everyone. I just have to be mom. And do the best I can. Offer loving words to ease the toddler tantrums and hold tightly to the baby when she needs soothing.
Being a mom is weird. But it’s also amazing. It’s the privilege of a lifetime, and I don’t take it for granted.
Thank you, V and L, for making me a mother.