Mother's Day--That's ME!

There was once a time when I prayed--please, God, let "mother" NOT be the primary way I define myself. I still do not want it to be the primary way, or the only way. And yet, on this day, about mothers, I realize, that being a mother is one of the great joys of my life. Of course I fantasize about what I might have been, or could have done, if I did not have children to take care of. But, as some wise friends always remind me, not having children is no guarantee that those dreams would have been any closer to coming true. It's just that now I have an excuse--someone to blame.

And yet, it is also true that the majority of my life force goes to my children, my family, my husband. This from me, a Wellesley woman, a feminist, a career woman, and one who still believes that work, meaningful work, is the key to happiness in life. Or at least contentment. On some days that belief fills me with ambivalence. A feeling that I am being torn in two.

But I sit here tonight, after a perfect day, so grateful that in this life I got to be a mother.

I did not think I would get to. I was 33 and single with no man on the horizon, and I was not the kind of woman to go the test tube route. Though I could have seen myself packing up and teaching poor children in some god forsaken poverty-stricken nation. And I would have loved it.

I called my first son Theodore because to me, he is a gift from God. A gift I never thought I would have in this lifetime. He had been around for about two hours when I turned to Jonathan and said, "I want another one!"

"Let's wait a little and see how this goes," he said.

I still agonize about being a mother on some days. I resent that I have to shop and clean and pick people up and serve serve serve on some days. I am so smart, so educated, so ready to give to the world, I think. How did it come to this? Shopping for healthy vegetables on a Tuesday morning when my energy is high and my soul is ready to do something great. Sweeping the floor when I could be writing a great article about something fabulously interesting

But today I marveled. I marveled at my beautiful children and the joy they give me. Theo dashed into our room at the crack of dawn with a bag of gifts and cards and jumped into bed. Benji presented me with a letter he had written (transcribed of course). My husband made me breakfast and two pots of my favorite super strong espresso. We went to LACMA and saw the Pompeii exhibit and I told my boys all I knew and promised that someday I would take them to the real place, so that they could walk the streets of this buried city that had changed my life in so many ways.

And tonight I think that my boys and my husband are what make my life full. They make my heart sing. I love watching them when they sleep and seeing them stand like statues in the Pompeii exhibit. I love their curiousity about the tar pits and the way they smell when they nuzzle close. I love their sensitivity and their stubborness and their tiny perfect bodies.

And I think, as much as I have fled from the title, the label, of mother, it has brought me more joy than almost anything else. So today, I pause and recognize that. And I take a moment to thank all the mothers of this world, who do their best to love their children and do their best to give them everything they possibly can. Because in the end, I do believe it is mothers who make the world go round. Or people who act like mothers.