There are many, many mothers in my life. My sister—a beautiful, dark-haired mother to an almost-two-year-old boy who has his mother's gorgeous coloring and her fierce independence—my sister-in-law—the most calm and grounded and downright together mother I know—and Mike's cousins who are just so beautiful and loving. I have many friends—some who are just about to be mothers and some who have just become one. There is also my stepmother who is the quirkiest, most original, most authentic woman I know who taught me how to drive a car and how to climb out on a limb and, also, how to be beautiful in my own skin. Then, of course, there's Mike's mom who once, years and years ago, when I first met Mike, made me realize how much fun raising a son would be one day.
But of all the moms in my life, this day makes me think of one more than any other:
My own.
My mother, right there, was in her second trimester with me. That's my sister she's holding (circa 1981).
My mother has fought her entire life for respect, for her own space, for happiness, and it hasn't always been an easy fight. She raised two daughters—both demanding and exhausting in our own ways—and she did so for many years without any help, when her own family had turned its back on us. Because of all she's gone through, my mother takes nothing—not a minute, not a second—for granted. And there is just nothing she wouldn't do for both my sister and me.
I have a great, albeit small, circle of family members who love me, who are loyal to me, who came to my wedding and poured their love out for Mike and me. I have incredible friends—a few I know will be in my life for the long haul, a few I truly believe will see my children and grandchildren grow. Mike's family is the most incredible group of people I have ever known, and there is not a day I don't feel downright undeserving to be married into this loving, loud group.
But my own mother—my sweet, kind, giving, warm mother—is the one person who loves me completely, unconditionally, with no pretenses, no expectations.
If you have met her—or if you will ever be lucky enough to meet her—you will understand, it will become so clear, why I want my own child.
I want the chance to love another person the way I have always been loved.
Happy Mother's Day, Mom.
And thanks for buying me a pair of shoes today, on your day. And thanks for making me laugh by saying, after you bought them, "Now, sweetie, I want to see these on your blog, OK?"
So, here they are, a picture stolen from someone's eBay site since that was the only place on the Internet the shoes could be found: