Mother’s Day is a special day indeed. But my Mother’s Day is mine. And I don’t really want to share it with anyone else.
I mean, I’m glad for the women who are moms, and the women who have moms and stuff, but it kinds ends there.
I don’t know why I’m seeing social media Mother’s Day celebrations the Wednesday BEFORE Mother’s Day. Did this become a 5 day holiday for 2017 or something?
It was awfully nice for my male coworker to buy me lunch for Mother’s Day and all, but I am neither his mother nor the woman who birthed his children. Why pray tell was that necessary? I appreciate the acknowledgement that I am one of few people in my office who have TWO FULL TIME JOBS, but I’d much rather accept that respect on 252 trading days per year, than a fast casual lunch print at my desk on a random Thursday.
I can’t understand why my phone lights up with celebratory texts from every woman I’ve ever met in my entire life on Mother’s Day morning. I know it’s a group blast text, so why bother? It’s not meaningful and neither is my “thanks, you too” reply.
Ever since I had kids, ever since that May Sunday one month before Finch was born, when the clown at the Italian restaurant gave me a blue balloon and told me I was definitely having a boy, Mother’s Day became my property.
I don’t even celebrate Mother’s Day with my own mother, or my mother in law. I’m the momma. It’s mine. I’ll shower them with love some other time. I am an ungrateful daughter, I know, but I feel so very strongly about being totally selfish this one day per year.
Mom is a title I fight for every single day.
Mom is a name that can simultaneously be music to my ears and nails on a chalkboard.
Mom is the hardest most important job I will ever have that I cannot get fired from.
Mom is a responsibility I take extremely seriously, a joy I cherish in every waking hour, a stereotype that I try to break for today’s little girls and tomorrow’s women.
Mother’s Day is about me. And my little humans. And my husband who helped me build a little kingdom of us-ness. It’s about all of us, and if we could find a way to spend it on a desert island and not have to talk to anyone else or respond to any text or waste a single minute or think about a single stress or hear a single complaint, I’d do it in a heartbeat.
But until then, I’m just gonna pretend that none of you are sharing my day. And I hope you do the same.