This morning it rained, leaving the roses by the patio bejeweled in Nature’s finest. It would have been a crime not to take their pictures, all dressed up in their Sunday best. And just in time for Mother’s Day. Well-wishing text messages and presents have come my way, and I find myself filled with gratitude.
I had my little girl at the relatively mature age of 35. (The term the medical profession uses is “elderly gravida,” may the coiner of that phrase burn their tongue on their coffee.) She’s an itty-bitty 2 years old, so it’s still a little new to me to be included in this holiday.
I remember before I even got pregnant, Fat Cat told me I had better do what I want to do in life (read: get published) before I became a mother and my brains turned to mush. (In true kitty fashion, Fat Cat never minces words.) I, of course, thought he was full of exaggerations and scare tactics, but there was a part of me that was a little afraid he was right, wondering what it would be like having my brains mommified. Would it hurt? Would I lose sight of my dreams? Would I become boring? Would I suffer from some sort of mommy-dementia as Fat Cat forewarned?
I got a taste of things to come during my pregnancy when I drove away from a gas pump with the hose still attached to my car. It was a little embarrassing standing in line holding a gas nozzle and disembodied hose. (I can hear my brother cracking up somewhere.) “Uh, how much do you charge for something like this?” It was a relief when the cashier shook his head and said, “Not again.” I did the glad-I’m-not-the-only-idiot dance and took my leave. Da-da-dum!
Now we’re two years and five months later, and I am intensely aware of the mommification my brain has undergone. Even more is the sense of permanence of these changes. Resistance has been futile, but thankfully, it doesn’t hurt…not too much anyway.
But Fat Cat was wrong about one thing…my brains are anything but mush. If anything, I think being a mommy has made me sharper and more determined. And when I press my fingers against the back of my skull, I can feel my new eye bulbs growing in the back of my head, preparing me for the days ahead when I will have to out-weasel Little Weasel. (Yes! Mommy superpowers!) My senses are strangely acute, all of them attuned to her first, everything else last. She is the soul of my soul and heart of my heart, and she makes me dream harder than I ever have before.
When I see my husband with her, I know he feels the same way. His eyes soften, and he does crazy things atypical of a good-standing member of his frugal clan…like driving 40 minutes to find her a balance bike. (I think his brains have turned to mush, and I love it.)
Anyway, I know Mother’s Day is about celebrating moms and all that they do, but today I want to celebrate my daughter, who is my fondest dream come true, and my husband, for everything that he does for us. Thank you both for making me a mommy. I love you guys.