Pretty Days Aren't the Payoff

Sundays are 'pretty days'. It's the only day of the week that guarantees that I will have hair and make-up done and real clothes on...all before noon. Sundays themselves are usually validation enough that I still have it, well, some of it at least. Last Sunday my 3 year old noticed. "Mom, you're beautiful!" he said slowly, almost mesmerized, as I made my descent down the staircase, oddly reminiscent of one's pre-prom promenade. "Flattery is wasted on the young", I noted. To 'Mother of 2', the compliment meant so much more than when what's-his-name muttered something to that effect a decade and some ago on our way to Jr. Prom. 'Husband of 5 years' noted the sentiment, concurred, then responded with a rhetorical "She is beautiful, isn't she?", wisely taking credit for our son's thoughtful observation and narrowly escaping one of those looks from me. I smile and am momentarily grateful that 3 year olds don't have filters.

It's a strange thing, Motherhood. It's a time when you feel like you are totally losing yourself and then you begin to see that you're just finding it. I remember before I became a mother, I would go to work and on any given day I'd be there as a birth mother handed her baby to an adoptive couple to have and raise and love. She would likely only know her own flesh through a series of pictures and letters and if she was one of the lucky ones, a few phone calls on birthdays or the occasional visit. And I would leave those placements seeing the hero in those birth moms, always wondering how they were able to do it but grateful that they were. It wasn't until I had my Max that I realized that those birth moms weren't trying to be heroes. They were just being mothers. Motherhood is love. Heroism is merely a byproduct of such selfless love. Mother love is a verb, something that must be experienced wholly and completely. As a runner, I have observed the phenomena called a marathon, yet I do not know the euphoria of racing it. Only one who is a mother knows what Mother love does to you.
I was told to sleep when they slept. I was told that crying wouldn't kill them. I was told to use time outs. I was told he would do it when he was ready. But no one told me that I would lay awake, watching him sleep, wondering why having clean floors was so much more important than reading that book to him today. No one told me that seeing him hurt and sad would kill me. No one told me that when he no longer needed me there, I would need him there. The first time I held them in my arms I told each of them, "I am your Mommy." I often wonder now, who am I to be their Mommy?
I am standing in my closet upstairs, starring at what must be someone else's wardrobe, wondering who replaced my every fashion sense with this stuff. A plethora of track jackets, hoodies and yoga pants suffocate what now has become 'special occasion' (meaning anywhere I go without the kids) wear. I hear the laughter of two little boys waft through the floor vents and an almost audible thought pierces my mind and heart. "They are given to you to make you better." If we do it right, every generation will perpetuate something better than the one before. My mother says that her greatest joy is seeing her children become better individuals than she was. I hope my sons will be so much more I am. I'll let the floors go next time.
Last Sunday was just one of dozens of times he has noticed something every mother, wife, and woman secretly wishes someone will notice, even though we know that more often than not, it won't be. And that is okay, because what we all know is that they, themselves, are validation enough that what we are doing every single day, over and over again, matters and is a beauty most will never see. Mothering takes place behind walls that never boast. When his first pick is the kid who never gets chosen to be on his team, when he donates his lawn money to help pay for his brother's medical bills, when he opts out of the Friday night party for family Monopoly because he knows that is where he is safest... I will again feel validated because he is my son and I am his Mother and I will know once again that having him has changed me forever.
Because of my boys I can be a patient, self-less, loving, kind, nurturing, strong, healthy, motivated, wise, and knowledgeable woman. What a gift they are. What an opportunity I have.