Shortly after my son arrived, my mother came to lend a hand. Having undergone an emergency Cesarean section, I secretly needed support during my recovery. She volunteered to hold my son, wash bottles, take our dog out—anything that would allow me to rest.
Instead of embracing her help, I clashed with her. I nitpicked her bottle-washing technique, critiqued her approach to my son’s sleep routine, and accused her of trying to take control. At a time when I should have been grateful for her motherly insight, I pushed her away. After just a couple of days, she decided to cut her visit short and flew back home, leaving me alone with my baby, exactly as I had insisted.
For more than a week, I rationalized my actions to my husband, friends, and myself. I told myself I had the right to parent as I saw fit, that she wasn’t honoring my choices. I repeated those lines to justify my behavior. I didn’t reach out to her, nor did she contact me. Before that moment, I couldn’t recall a time when I had gone more than a day without texting her.
Eventually, the tension faded, but that confrontation lingers in my thoughts. When my son has a fever, develops a rash, or bumps his head, my first instinct is to call my mom for advice. Is this normal? Can I apply Neosporin on this cut? How long will it take to clear up a diaper rash? Even with my husband’s support, friends in the medical field, and the vast information available on Google, my gut tells me to consult my mother first.
She raised four children primarily on her own. My siblings and I never had to worry about dinner or how we’d get to our activities. My mom worked tirelessly during the day and became our personal chauffeur at night and on weekends. Each of us had different schedules, yet she managed it all seamlessly. She found a way to afford our private education and made sure we had the chance to explore music lessons, swim classes, and sports. She was our biggest cheerleader, never missing a game or event. I cherish the memories of riding in her silver Dodge Caravan, listening to 90s hits as we zipped around town for soccer games. Now, when I hear Third Eye Blind, I immediately think of her.
My mother also faced the tough times. Whenever we got into trouble, she was the one to handle the fallout. Each of us had our unique challenges growing up, often testing her patience to the limit, yet she managed to navigate it all with grace. She seldom complained and was always there for us, embodying a loving and selfless spirit.
Now, as a mother myself, I sometimes feel like I’m falling short. On days when my son resists diaper changes, refuses to eat, or throws tantrums, I want to give up. There are moments when I place him in his high chair, turn on Sesame Street, and retreat to the bathroom to cry. In these challenging instances, I reflect on how extraordinary my mother was, and sometimes I grapple with feelings of inadequacy because I fear I may never measure up to her standards.
However, amidst those thoughts, I find hope. She managed to be an outstanding mother to four children who didn’t always express gratitude. I believe some of her strength, patience, and selflessness reside within me. Thus, I strive each day to embody those qualities. A deep breath when my toddler smears yogurt in my hair before work. A smile instead of a frown when he accidentally (or intentionally) hits me with his sippy cup. Words of encouragement rather than reprimands when he tests his limits. These were the kindnesses my mother bestowed upon me, and I aim to replicate them in abundance for my son.
A few years ago, I filled a cookie jar with 52 reasons why I love my mother and gifted it to her for Mother’s Day—a present she could unwrap weekly for an entire year. I took those reasons from a journal where I regularly reflect on my mother and the qualities I admire in her. I’ve never disclosed the existence of this journal to her, but perhaps I should. After dedicating decades to caring for me and showering me with unconditional love, she deserves to know how profoundly she has influenced my life and continues to shape who I am as a woman and mother.
Countless mothers, grandmothers, aunts, sisters, and friends have selflessly contributed to the success of others, sharing their love and facilitating growth. They’ve sacrificed their own needs for the well-being of those they cherish. To my mother and all of the remarkable women who prioritize the happiness of others above their own, thank you. Your love and guidance are invaluable, shaping a generation of kinder, stronger women who will continue to pass on that legacy.
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Summary
This reflective piece explores a mother’s journey of realizing her own shortcomings and longing to emulate her own mother’s strength and patience while navigating the challenges of parenting. Through memories and experiences, she acknowledges the deep impact her mother has had on her life and strives to inherit those admirable traits for her own children.