The Mother in Me

     The approaching of Mother's Day always has the same affect on me. The entire week before, I begin to take stock of myself, I internalize every parenting decision I can remember making. I begin my annual study of other mothers, my own mother, mothers of many, mothers of few, step mothers, foster mothers, new mothers, old mothers, grandmothers, mothers of fur children; you name it, I start watching them intently, or studying my memory for examples of them. I pay close attention to the value placed on mothers in our society & how it's represented in advertisements & media. From social media, I glean wisdom from other people's perceptions of their own mothers. By the time the week is over, I'm mentally exhausted & feeling inadequate. It happens every year... Every year I tell myself to "stay calm, take it easy, don't over think motherhood this year", but I do it nonetheless. 

     Everyone searches for definition, a way to define who they are. Many women identify as wives, mothers, homemakers, by their professions or what they like to do. I've never known quite how to define myself. I'm guilty of drawing comparisons and wanting to be what I see in other women, other mothers. I want to be crafty, creative, artistic, a hostess, an intellect, career woman, gardener, athlete, writer, etc... If someone has been it, I've wanted to also. Even if I haven't wanted it for myself, I've wanted to want it. It seems so silly when I type it out like that but it's true. I've always wanted a path or something to Be. But I feel like teflon tape, nothing sticks. I'd be a tumbleweed if it weren't for my children; and while motherhood doesn't define me, my children are the means by which I define my world.

     For as long as I can remember, I've wanted to matter. Not to be important or revered... but to matter, be of use. The life I lead is a small one. My home is a tiny dot on the face of the planet, a time capsule filled with relics of my existence. Before long it'll be gone and so will I, but if I live a life that matters, what I leave behind will stay. And if nothing sticks to me, maybe something of me will stick...