Mother’s Day…a day we set aside to honor the women who brought us into this world. And this year, I’m thinking of three such women.
In my own beginning, there was my mom. Without her, I’d quite literally be nowhere.
In many ways, she and I are the same person—similar personalities, competitive spirits, hard-headedness. And in many other ways we’re vastly different. Meaning, we come from such different upbringings…due in large part to my mom’s drive to give her kids a better lot in life.
She’s the most determined woman I know. Married at 18. Divorced at 30. Remarried again at 34. She didn’t start her undergrad degree until I was six, while working a full time job and raising four kids. And when she finished that, my mom went on to ace her MBA a few years later. From one challenge to the next, she never stopped. Just put her head down and kept on crawling.
Only now—as a parent myself—do I find myself more fully grasping what all she overcame and accomplished. On the nights I fall to the couch exhausted after just one day of watching just one toddler, I think of my mom. I wonder how she made it through the years of single parenting and then the years of raising four kids with my dad in one tiny house—working to give us opportunities she couldn’t even imagine as a child.
Simply put, my mom’s better than your mom. She just is. And I love her. I love that she’s not the same yesterday, today, and forever. I love that she’s an ever-evolving, woman. Even now—as I watch her dote on my son—I see sides of her I never imagined existed. Maybe they didn’t? Or maybe they did.
In any case, I love that my son has gotten the opportunity to know and love her. I love that I get to know all the new and known sides of my mom. I love that she loves me.
When you wait so long for something, you often wonder: will it be a let down if and when it finally arrives? Are my expectations set too high? Can it really be as good as I imagined?
For eight years, I hoped to see Lindsay as a mother. And in all my waiting, wishing, and hoping, I see now I had no need to fear the bar might sit too high.
Lindsay waltzes through motherhood with this air of fearlessness. For most of our marriage, I’ve been the care-free one—content to just meet life as it comes. And now she brings that to us. She’s the one calming fears, adding patience, shrugging off the trivial.
And I love this unearthed Lindsay.
I love the smile that consumes her face. I love the tears that fall just because joy demands it. I love how she loves us. Takes care of us. Nurtures us. Encourages and pushes. Applauds and consoles. Sympathizes and empathizes.
I love how much she loves her role as mother. How she bounces into it with the passion only one who’s waited so long can give. I love how she loves our son. How she loves me.
My Son’s Birthmom
And this Mother’s Day, I think about the woman who first welcomed our son into the world—held him in her arms first before eventually passing him into ours.
She and I have never met. In some ways she’s just a mystery…someone who lives only in my mind and not of this world. And in other ways, she’s very, very real…someone who I meet more and more each day through my son.
Thirty some months ago, she made the very difficult decision of entrusting her baby boy to us. I love that she trusted us. Still trusts us. I love how she loved him. Still loves him.
So to my three moms…I’m so grateful to use the word “mom” in describing each of you. Thank you all for the love you’ve added to my story.