This year I have an actual living, breathing, peeing, pooping, babbling, sitting, army crawling, pulling up, almost standing, real life baby. So, Mother’s Day should be all “hooray for me.” And it kind of is. But…
There is some debate in this blogger’s house as to whether or not this is my “first” Mother’s Day (and as such, to be made into a big a deal). My answer is: No. Don’t get me wrong, make a big fuss. Cook me breakfast and for the love of all that is holy help with some of the elimination duties. But, this isn’t my first Mother’s Day. It’s a special Mother’s Day. But not my first.
For some reason, this makes my husband angry. As if it’s somehow disrespectful to Baby G that I consider myself a mother to our angels. But, I am their mother, and HE is their father. They may not be here pooping and crying and laughing and smiling, but that doesn’t make them any less our children. Just less alive.
So, we have a point of conflict. I feel that ALL of our children should be recognized on days for parents and grandparents, but Daddy G only feels that living children count. Obviously, I lose. Because I always lose. Because even if I don’t lose, the topic is just ignored, so I might as well have lost.
Grrr… stupid Mother’s Day! Can’t we just have “help a mama” hour everyday? Even better plan… change a diaper a day! Or give a bath. Or feed the baby dinner! Or shit, just play with him so I can chill on Harry Potter Lego’s (BTW, best game ever!).
OK, I’ll quit bitching, because I do have a cuddly, smiley, bitey, hair-pully, breathing, rolling all around, Elmo wrestling baby asleep in my bed (OK, the family bed) and he thinks I am the shiz of all shiz. He lights up when he sees me, he thinks my voice is magic, and he’s mine! I cannot even express how much I love this little man.