While the joys of motherhood are countless, the role often feels thankless. When else is it normal to be summoned only when someone needs a diaper change, yet receive no acknowledgment for the work you do?
Just last week, I had to rush back home after dropping off my son at school to find his soccer shoes, then drive back to deliver them. Did I receive any gratitude for my effort? Not a chance. Instead, I faced complaints about missing socks.
During my college days, whenever I picked up my neatly folded laundry, I always made sure to express my thanks. My children, however, seem to believe that their clothes magically appear clean and neatly organized in their drawers overnight. If only it were that simple.
Dinner time is often met with eye rolls instead of appreciation. And heaven forbid I don’t have their favorite cereal on hand! Yet, when I do stock it, do I get a simple “thank you”? Absolutely not.
Of course, I take on these responsibilities because I love my children, and caring for them—diapers and all—is part of the package I signed up for. But it wouldn’t hurt to hear a heartfelt “thank you for everything you do, Mom” once in a while.
That’s why, after becoming a mother, Thanksgiving quickly became my favorite holiday. It presents a unique opportunity to reflect on all that I’m thankful for and, even better, to receive appreciation in return. It’s a day devoid of the typical Hallmark clichés associated with Mother’s Day and the mess of breakfast in bed to clean up afterward. Just one day each year to truly embrace gratitude from my three greatest blessings. Count me in!
But the reality often falls short of my expectations.
A few years ago, I asked my children what they were thankful for, hoping to elicit some warm sentiments. “Poop,” my son Alex enthusiastically replied. Really? Strike one. Thankfully, I had more children.
“Eating ice cream,” chimed in my daughter, Maya. Ice cream? Not today, kiddo.
“Umm…” my youngest, Zoe, paused thoughtfully. This was the moment I had been waiting for; my heart was set on her response. “Daddy,” she finally declared.
Daddy? Seriously? The same dad who was napping on the couch and hadn’t lifted a finger to help prepare the lovely meal we’re about to enjoy? DADDY? This man didn’t carry you for nine months, nor does he have stretch marks because of you. Daddy? Ice cream? And poop?! Who on earth raised these kids, and is there a return policy?
“That’s nice,” I managed to reply, trying to keep my cool. “What about me?”
“Of course, you,” Zoe replied nonchalantly.
Well, at least I made the cut. After Daddy, poop, and ice cream. That’s motherhood in a nutshell.
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In conclusion, while motherhood is a labor of love, it often comes with little recognition. A simple thank you would go a long way in appreciating the countless sacrifices mothers make every day.