Word to your Mother

I thought I was going to write a post about how Mother’s Day is a bull$h!t holiday. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I am appreciative of the celebration. I welcome the opportunity to be spoiled and pampered. The chance to sleep in and not cook or clean for an entire day. I LOVE that part. It’s more the concept that the daily 5:30 am wake up, being a personal chauffeur, packing lunches, going to therapy, breaking up sibling fights, cooking, cleaning, laundry and the endless task of motherhood are to be celebrated on a single day with some flowers and macaroni art. It’s like telling someone how much you love them on Valentines Day, or thanking my child’s teacher on one day out of they year when they spend more waking hours with my children than I do. But I guess it’s better than nothing.

But rather than sound ungrateful, I decided I would reflect on motherhood a bit. The other day I wore my offensive shirt, you know, the one I wrote about here. My sweet friend came over for a playdate and wanted to buy one for herself to show her support. But of course, its not April anymore so no need to be aware of autism amiright? So I was browsing Etsy, knowing that I could find something similar in design if not identical, and something weird happened. I saw so many inspiring and beautiful words ready for me to wear, and I started to tear up. It feels ridiculous typing it, that t-shirts were bringing on a flood of emotions, but I think that is all part of this journey. Most days my outlook is positive. I don’t expect or want sympathy. I just live my life in my blissful way. But sometimes, this whole thing just sucks.

7 years ago, I celebrated my first mother’s day. Rivers wasn’t born yet, but he was growing inside only a few short months away from his debut. We had a lot of difficulty conceiving, including a miscarriage, so it was definitely a Mothers’ Day to celebrate. But like any first time mom, I had no idea what was coming. But unlike most other moms, I was hit with the additional challenge of autism. It’s like God or the universe was playing a cosmic joke, saying “how bad do you really want a child”.

Motherhood is not at all what I expected. I think 98% of mothers out there agree. And to the other 2%, well I have some choice words for you. Mothering is hard, people try and tell you this, but it’s not something that can be explained. Many people may come and go in your life, but your mother is irreplaceable. And that responsibility is intense. The burden of raising children is the heaviest I have ever felt. And I feel the added pressure to do right by Rivers; and I don’t even know what that means.

I sat with a friend today, her son was recently diagnosed. And I asked her, if she ever felt like I do, like she was robbing her child of his childhood. The therapy and all the extra work we put in, the extra reading time and the pressure to make sure he is trying his hardest. When does he get to just be a 6 year old? Is this the right path? Everyone tells you how key early intervention is, and I agree, everything we have done through this point has made our lives better. We have seen noticeable changes and progress and I know we would be struggling so much more if we had not done these things. I believe it to my core, or I would not have made those decisions.

But the guilt. I feel guilty he can’t just exist the way most of us do. That he can’t sit the way that’s comfortable for him because its bad for his core. Or that we have to practice walking up and down stairs because he needs to be able to step on one step than another, rather than stepping with both feet on the same step. And that somehow, if we don’t do these things, he might not hold his pencil correctly. What’s the point? If you have never experience occupational therapy this all might sound crazy to you, and it is. And I am completely oversimplifying the work they do. But my exaggerated point being, I have to train him how to exist, because he isn’t doing it right.

I honestly don’t know how women survive this. But somehow, we do or we will. We pour our love into our children, we make sacrifices and tough decisions all in the name of our children. I don’t know if the decisions I make are right, and thats what makes this so hard. I won’t know if it worked until it’s too late to correct it. But what I do know, is that I make most choices with the best of intentions, with their best interest in mind. I only hope that when all is said and done, that is what my children remember.

Thank God for my mother. I know after experiencing my own struggles in motherhood (and this is basically the beginning), I appreciate my own mother so much more. She is my rock, and knows exactly how to comfort me when I need it. She knows when to offer advice and when to shut up. She never undermines me as a mother, and never suggests I do things differently. She never makes me feel like I’m not doing this right.

So to all the women in the trenches and to all the women that support them, Happy Mother’s Day.