Mother’s Day 2012

May 14

*** I decided to start a new tradition on Hope Heals and write a little essay about motherhood on Mother’s Day every year.  I feel it just wouldn’t be right to publish an essay about this topic without telling you about Saturday morning…


{We were having that playdate brunch over here to start our morning.  (It was wonderful and adorable, btw).  Before all the families arrived, James was freaking out about other kids playing with his toys.  Next thing we knew, James dressed himself in one of the more hilarious outfits we’ve ever seen and LOCKED HIS ROOM FROM THE INSIDE.  So, we had no way to get into his room to change his clothes (Jay eventually climbed through his window later in the day), and no way to get out toys, etc. for other kids to play with that day.  From the playdate, we had to race to a birthday party of the daughter of a precioius couple from “Jawja” (who we just love).  They are stylish and fabulous and our son was dressed as a lil ragamuffin at their child’s party.

Ugh.  Embarassing!  All part of motherhood, I guess.}



So, since yesterday was Mother’s Day (and mine was wonderful, btw) and because today is a lovely “Motherhood Monday” on this little blog, I give you my thoughts …




Motherhood is bittersweet for me because I have been a mother for over 4 years, but it’s only been recently that I actually feel like a mother again.


On April 21, 2008, I suffered a near-fatal brain stem stroke as my 6-month old son, James, sweetly slept in the next room.  Those first few horrific months of life dangling by a thread have (blessedly) been stricken from my memory.  Nonetheless, I would endure them all again if only I could experience those fleeting moments of my baby’s first year of life.  Photographs from that time are my only real source of memories.



I was in ICU on my first Mother’s Day, hooked up to life support, though I have a dream-like remembrance of the bright red “MOM” emblazoned on my son’s onesie that day.  I had been brought to a place where no mother should ever have to go as the care of my child was completely out of my physical capabilities.  What’s more, my son and I were inadvertently put in a competition to see who would achieve those basic human milestones first…eating, talking, walking.  Needless to say, he beat me in most all of them.


The years following have been an unnatural release of my own motherhood instincts to focus on myself, in hopes that I could give my son the gift of a future, recovered, “normal” mommy.  I’ve had to depend on my husband, mother, other family members, and friends to fill in the gaps for what my son has needed from his mommy versus what I could give him.  That process has not been painless by any stretch, and as time passes, I’m less and less sure of exactly what kind of mommy I will be able to be for James, or for future children.  Yet as my son has morphed from a baby into a little boy, glimpses of his compassion for others and love for his family (and for his mommy in particular) continue to grow.  My hope and prayer is that as he turns from a boy into a man, my broken vessel of motherhood may actually end up giving him many things that a perfect one never could.



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