This is to the rookie moms and mom professionals. To the youthful moms, mature moms and the moms who have no idea how old they are anymore. To the married moms, the single moms, the stepmoms and the moms who are dads and dads who are moms. This is even to the moms who may no longer look like humans because they are so stretched out, stretched thin and exhausted.
To the working moms. Working at home, from home, at an office, in a car, during baseball practice or in the middle of the night. To the moms who are bringing home the bacon and still trying to get it cooked and put on the table. To the moms working on dentist appointments and PTA fundraisers and costumes for the fourth grade musical. To the moms working on making it to all the games and shows or even just home for dinner.
To the moms playing dinosaurs or dolls or fairies or cars or giant jungle cats way more than they would like to be. Or reading the same book for the six millionth time while trying not to fall asleep. To the ones kissing boo-boos, nursing fevers or sending care packages. To the ones doing science projects and those frickin’ dioramas. To the lice-comber-outers and birthday party hostesses and grilled cheese makers who always cut the crusts off. To the human ATM machines, drive-through windows and taxi cabs. To the moms having dance parties in the living room and taming temper tantrums in the middle of the grocery store. To the women who eat with one hand and never pee alone despite shutting the bathroom door. And to those special moms who also have pets and will forever wonder why.
To the moms that are cleaning. Stuck-on oatmeal off the floor and sticky fingerprints off countertops. Scrubbing marker off of sofas and grass stains from white t-shirts. The ones wiping vomit out of carseats, brown stuff off the rug and chewed food out of their best bags. To the dish doers, the laundry folders, bed makers and the ladies mopping up urine even though they don’t know where it came from.
To the moms who are worrying. Worrying about whether the kids are sick or going to get sick or get you sick. Worried about if they’re at a good enough school or reading at the right level. Worried about if they’re talking enough or eating enough or if they are ever going to walk. Worried about their eyesight or their hearing or that weird mark on their face. Worried about them getting hurt or about them driving or even worse about someone else driving. Worried about who they are with, who they’re dating or if they are happy. To the moms worrying about screen time, and cell phones and social media and oh my God social media. About whether your issues will become their issues or if you’re saying the right things and enough things and not talking too much so that they still have room to. To the moms worried about everything and nothing all at once.
To the moms with guilt. GUILT! Guilt about yelling or feeding them crap or forgetting to pick them up or smacking them or saying no or saying yes or not paying enough attention or being overbearing or not hugging them enough or reading to them enough or picking the wrong dad for them or forgetting the snacks or missing that thing you were supposed to be at or saying what you said or not saying enough or just not being able to give them more.
To the moms who birthed babies from their bodies, the moms who birthed them from their hearts and the ones who birthed them for another mom instead. And to all of those future mothers just aching to have babies in their arms. To the mothers of children who are sick or handicapped or disabled and need every last ounce of you that you didn’t even know you had. To the mothers battling addiction; either their own or their child’s. To the moms who have buried children and with them a piece of themselves.
To the moms who wanted this more than anything and the moms who didn’t plan for this at all. To the moms who are lonely despite how many friends they might have. To the motherless moms and the fatherless moms and the ones who had no one from which to learn. The moms who are up late with kids who don’t sleep or up just trying to get a spare minute to themselves. The moms who eat or drink their feelings every night because no one else quite understands. To the moms who have sacrificed; the ones whom have altered or given up their bodies, time, careers, beds, health, showers, sleep, relationships, futures, personal space, hobbies, sex lives and social lives. To the mamas with babies freshly hatched or ones who have long since left the nest. And to the moms who are sometimes just tired of being moms.
To all of you who are hurting and hoping and loving and hugging and praying and laughing and crying and just doing the best you can — trying desperately not to screw it up. You are seen. You are loved. And you are not alone. So take a deep breath and try to relish all the moments of wonderful along the way.
Here’s to us.