I have a complicated relationship with motherhood.
I was never sure I wanted to be a mom. I was worried that I would be a cold mom. That I would resent all that I had given up to be a mom. That I'd be fundamentally bad at it. That I would regret it. I am not a mother-woman.
It wasn't until an unplanned pregnancy and a miscarriage that I realized that maybe — just maybe — it was something that I could maybe — just maybe — do.
The thing is — kids do, ultimately, ruin your life. But they ruin the life you had, the life before you had this love, this mess, this chaos, these hugs, these conflicts, these moments.
I don't regret it.
I regret how messy my house is, how fundamentally dirty it is.
I regret what has happened to my body, the body that gave birth twice and never really recovered. Never found the hours in the day it took (before kids) to make this body "fit."
I resent — just a little bit — the cost. The fundamental debt, the working as many hours and as many jobs as I can to give these kids the experiences that I never had, that I never even knew existed, and still always existing in debt, not able to bring in quite enough to give them the experiences and life that I wish I could give them.
But I don't resent them. I don't regret them. I already miss them, as they are already pulling away, becoming their own selves, finding their own passions, hugging me in drive-by moments.
I have a complicated relationship with motherhood.
I grew up with a mom who did her very best, but who was also running her husband's business, and trying to raise two toddlers on the side. I was the oldest-only child, only half-related to anyone, the one who never really fit in to either family. Nearly a decade older than any of my half-siblings, I was the odd duck. The ugly swan. The black sheep. The label. But my mom always let me know that she believed in me. That I was her first, and that we — she and I — had a history that was ours, alone, that no one could take away.
An I was incredibly lucky — I had a second mom as well. I had two women in my life who loved me unconditionally, no matter how awkward or odd I was. I saw two ways of living in the world, and I watched them. I learned. I loved. I knew I was loved.
And then he grabbed his phone and his blanky, and he leaned into me and then his 6' tall self trudged up the stairs and went to bed (I hope). A fully formed human, a person I formed. A human whose dirty sock is in the middle of the living room as I write this. A human whose teacher I just emailed, a human who is eating me out of house and home, a human who has managed to lose all of our forks under his bed.
A human who calls me mom.
And my daughter from another mother? She has moved on to the rest of her life. She has found her own path and forged her own future.
I have a complicated relationship with motherhood.
It's Mother's Day, a day with an apostrophe I don't understand, a day that's never landed on "my weekend." But today I got hugs — real hugs — from both of my kids.
Today, as I write this, both kids are asleep (?) in their rooms. In just a few years, both kids won't be here anymore.
But these moments, these memories — they will live on. They will live on in me, and they will live on in my kids. Whatever my moms taught me, I have done everything in my power to gift to my kids. And they, in turn, will pay it forward to their future generations, whatever those will look like.
I have a complicated relationship with motherhood.
But I have no regrets.
