Mom's the Word

Well, it was this weekend anyway.

I’ve been a mother for over two years. Unfortunately, “Mama” was not one of the words Celia used to use, so no little people have actually ever called me Mom. Yet. (And except for when my fifth graders accidentally called me mom, which was always a flattering mistake, but one that doesn’t really count.) I’m still pretty new at this thing called motherhood. And to be perfectly honest, there are lots of times when I feel entirely under-qualified. I don’t insist on pockets in every pair of pants, for balling up tissues and collecting other paraphernalia, like my mom does. I don’t merge into traffic quite as cautiously and I don’t have a way of making every holiday feel extra special, like she can. I don't always stock the cabinets and fridge with everyone's favorite snack, or put the needs of everybody else before my own the way my mom continues to do.

Although, there are moments when I see my mother in me. When I lose track of time in a bookstore, she's there. I am my mom when I stock up on thank you notes and when I spritz the guest sheets with lavender linen spray, when I eat ice cream before bed and when I start a second project before the first one is complete. I know whose daughter I am when I find my nose in a book instead of my hands in the air during a football game. I see my mother in myself when I stand at the front of a classroom. And when I remind loved ones to wear seatbelts or sunscreen...

But there’s still a lot I need to work on. Truthfully, sometimes I find myself looking at the computer screen, or even the clock, when I should be watching my babies. But I know I’m not alone in my flaws. And I don’t expect perfection from myself, most of the time anyway. I’ve learned the best way to feel qualified is through practice and I'm finding myself a bit more confident each day. I hate to have to practice on these two small people though. They deserve a pro. But I am thankful that I get to spend time with these special souls. They’re a big help when it comes to making me a mom. I’d love them even if I didn't grow their hearts in mine, if they didn’t sleep across the hall, or we didn't share the very same last name. They're, obviously, what motivates me to keep trying. That, and I have a lot to live up to. My parents (step and in-law, too) are the people I want to be when I grow up. Mostly, anyway. I’m okay without all the pockets.

JEB