Of all of the year’s holidays, Mother’s Day holds the most personal significance for me. While I love all of the other holidays, Mother’s Day is the only yearly celebration that recognizes the hardest and most valuable role I hold.
Quite frankly, motherhood is incredibly hard work. Two pregnancies, healing from two caesareans, nursing, pumping, bouncing a colicky baby, not changing out of my pyjamas for days, being the last one to sit down to dinner always, my head hitting the pillow knowing the night shift could begin at any moment, midnight trips to the hospital because of croup, cluster feeding a growing baby, leaving the house unknowingly with spit-up on my clothes, fevers, catching throw-up in my bare hands, diaper blowouts, perpetually drinking cold, stale coffee, cleaning potty training messes out of the carpet, being told dinner is gross, making bagged lunches, rushing to school, waking a napping baby to rush to pick up from school, eating dinner on the road to make it to activities on time, listening to incessant questions of, “Are we there yet?” on road trips, facing bedtime battles, being wedged between two small bodies unable to move in my own bed, being left with a postpartum body well after the postpartum period, and because of so many other facets, there is no doubt parenting is the most all-encompassing role I’ve ever taken on.
But it is also the most joyous. Oh, how joy-filled it is! The smallest of milestones, waking up to their faces each morning, the sloppiest of kisses, their words, their smiles, the leg hugs, the barely legible family drawings, the laughter, their imaginations, the magic of seeing the world through their eyes, witnessing their boundless potential just start being actualized, the way they fit into my arms so perfectly, every day marking a new adventure, really every moment is worth all the work and then some.
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