Parenting Journey
At just 4 years old, my son, Liam, celebrated his very first Mother’s Day. Like many mothers, I often question if I’m doing enough, if I measure up, or if I constantly fall short. Guilt has been a familiar companion, as I juggle the demands of work and family life, leading me to believe that I’m not quite up to par in the realm of motherhood.
Let’s be honest: my culinary skills would never make it into a gourmet magazine. My children would likely list “Mystery Noodles” as their favorite dish, a delightful concoction appreciated mostly by those under 18—or perhaps by adults who have lost their taste buds. Bedtime stories have become a trial as I find myself skipping pages to avoid the repetitive strains of “Green Eggs and Ham” that echo in my mind long after I’ve closed the book. Unfortunately, I’ve even found myself reciting those lines in a singsong manner to my patients at work.
I often realize I haven’t even unpacked my children’s backpacks for days, which means I’m completely relying on them to remind me of important events like field trips or “crazy hair day.” This strategy usually backfires, especially when they show up to school with hair that looks like a bird’s nest. And I must admit, I’ve silently thanked the universe for school on days when the rain just won’t stop. Yes, I’ve carried my share of inadequacies and worries about not measuring up. Scrolling through Facebook and Pinterest, I can’t help but compare myself to others, especially as a mother of six.
This year marked a significant milestone—Liam’s first Mother’s Day, a moment that resonated deeply with me. Surprisingly, I’ve begun to feel less inadequate. Through Liam, I’m learning what it truly means to be a mother. Born with physical challenges, he has a heart that radiates love for me. From the moment I wake him or step through the door, his face lights up, and his arms reach out. In those moments, I start to grasp the essence of motherhood.
Liam has shown me that being a mom isn’t about being perfect or reaching some unattainable standard. It’s about connection and love. For him, the concept of a mother is uncharted territory; he has no prior experience to guide his understanding. What does a mother represent to a child who has never known one? What does she smell like? How does she touch?
For four long years, Liam lay in a crib, neglected and cold, devoid of comforting kisses or warm hugs. He learned to suppress his emotions, becoming accustomed to a life without love or care. The sterile smells of the orphanage replaced the scents of home-baked cookies or fresh air. His experience was marked by fear and survival, not joy.
There were no playful, laughing moments or nurturing embraces. Instead, he learned that the world could be harsh, and that love was something to be earned, not freely given. Through him, I’ve come to understand that motherhood is beautifully simple. I kiss his injuries, dry his tears, and keep him warm. I embody the protective instincts of a mother who watches out for him. I speak words of encouragement when he’s facing challenges. I carry the scent of fresh laundry and the outdoors, and my heart beats with love for him, unconditional and unwavering.
Despite his lack of a traditional maternal figure, Liam is defining motherhood in his own way. Each night, as I tuck him into bed, a comforting routine unfolds. He pats his pillow and asks, “Mommy, night, night?” I lie beside him, our faces close, as he questions, “Liam’s mommy?” His tiny fingers trace my cheeks, seeking reassurance in those words. Every hug he gives me feels like a testament to our bond. “Yes, my sweet boy, I’m your mommy, and I am enough.”
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In summary, my journey with Liam has reshaped my understanding of motherhood. It’s a role filled with love, warmth, and the beautiful simplicity of being present.