Next I would apologise for not having coffee with you last weekend. It’s holiday time in my part of the world and I took a short trip to England with my children to visit family and somehow my intended blog post just didn’t get written. But never mind.
This weekend my thoughts have inevitably turned to Mother’s Day. This is going to sound an odd thing to say, I know, but tomorrow’s Mother’s Day will see me in something of a cultural limbo. I will explain – you see, I am British and in Britain Mother’s Day (the ‘real one’ as I like to think of it 😉 ) falls in March; but I live in The Netherlands where Mother’s Day is celebrated in June, the same day as it is in the USA and other countries.
Now personally I don’t see why I shouldn’t have two Mother’s Days a year but apparently (so says my husband) I’m still only entitled to one a year. I choose to celebrate Mother’s Day on the British date so, for me, this Sunday isn’t exactly Mother’s Day but I’m thinking about it none the less because it is Mother’s Day for so many others.
Yesterday I was reflecting on the differences between the life I thought I would have as a mother (before I was one) and my life as it is now I actually am a mother.
I don’t remember ever not wanting to be a mother. Throughout my childhood and early adulthood it was the only constant and unwavering goal in my life. I just always knew that I wanted to have children.
As a child I used to love the TV show The Waltons, you know, the one with John Boy et al?! Something about a family with lots of children and their kitchen table with all the girls seated on one side and all the boys seated on the other totally enchanted me. I would watch the show and dream of someday having lots of children myself, I mean I was thinking of numbers like ten or maybe twelve children and I’m chuckling to myself now as I type this and remember those kind of thoughts.
Fast forward thirty plus years and I am a mother with three children. (It turned out that three was just plenty! 🙂 ) The funny thing is that whereas I used to have a singular idea of myself as a mother, most days I feel like I am three kinds of mother rolled into one person. I have a seventeen year old daughter, an (almost) fifteen year old (autistic) son and an eight year old son. Of course all children are uniquely themselves, but with my three children there is very little overlap of similarity in any respect. They are at different life stages to each other, have very different personalities and interests and need very different things from me as a mother.
It’s a challenge and hard work and some days, I don’t mind telling you, I fear I’m not up to the task of being their mother, but I wouldn’t have it any other way. This (sort of for me) Mother’s Day and every other day I am forever grateful that I was able to have children and I feel blessed to be able to call myself a mother.
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