Mother’s Days used to be so bittersweet for me. Celebrating my own mum is simple – she is that warm, nurturing, all-the-cuddles sort for whom motherhood is a given. Her time is ours, always. She is sage and generous, open and supportive. Self-centred as it sounds, she was born to be our mum. She made it look easy.
I grew up with the best role model for a time I might be a mum myself. And this was something I yearned for, even as a child. How could I have known at aged 7, when I asked my surprised yet reassuring mum whether I might not be able to have children, that I’d rightly predicted the journey I’d take some 30 years later? As it turned out, something that seemingly came so naturally to her took time and a little medical intervention to come to me. And even then, it hasn’t been the intuitive experience I thought I’d seen in the way my own parents raised us.
Having children is hard work, often a guessing game, hugely rewarding and utterly exhausting. I look at other mums now and see so many invisible capes; superwomen every one of them, entertaining wee ones on so little sleep, functioning through blocked milk ducts or absent fathers or post-natal depression; being creative on little cash, or when they’ve forgotten to pack a spare baby grow; without their own mums nearby or without them at all; through Skype meetings, doctors appointments, devastating loss, or with a brood of other lovely littles to look after too. Whatever the ‘type of mum’ these women are, the labels they are given by those who can’t sense magic at work, there’s a struggle for everyone and everyone is doing their very best in the circumstances. Yes, mums are pretty awesome.
Even when they seem to have it nailed, mums are often achieving the impossible, giving their all without expecting anything in return, I know that now. So this year, my mum is getting something a little more creative than a bouquet, even though I know she’d be happy with a hug.
Show your love for mums with Etsy’s Mother’s Day Gift Guide, here: