Wednesday, Aria and Myles were home with me, awake and playing peacefully in the living room. Evan was still asleep and I sat down to pump before he woke up and my mom arrived to help. Aria got curious and crawled over by me only to discover the 2 plastic tubes that attached her mom to a bag that made a lot of noise. As she grabbed the tube right out from me, milk spilling everywhere, she giggled with her big (now 7!) toothed smile, and my heart melted. As I cleaned up and finished pumping, Evan woke up and was screaming like he hadn’t ate in days. As I tried to get what milk was left into his bottle, a lovely smell of real food (beef tips and noodles, corn, and pumpkin) digested and blown out of my 10 month old son’s diaper filled the air. I quickly tried to ignore the smell as I filled Evan’s belly, but it couldn’t be ignored for long. I grabbed our changing pad and basket of diapers/wipes and laid Myles down to attack the situation. But he decided he wanted a toy that was about 2 feet away and attempted to roll over multiple times as I wrestled his strong, 26 pound body trying not to get any debris on our carpet. While using the 6th wipe and tackling the dirtied onesie, I heard the beautiful sound of a dog vomiting mixed with the giggles of the kids. Bentley, after most likely being dropped too many table scraps from 2 high chairs, was throwing up in the middle of our living room floor and our always curious Aria was quickly crawling over to try and help clean it up for me. As I took a deep breath, the kind of deep breath that you also say a little prayer for a boost of patience, I thanked my mom.
My mom and I have always been very close. I call her daily, inquire about all kinds of things, often talk her ear off about my life/problems/joys/bad days/good days, sometimes even forgetting to ask her how her day was because she is always so interested in things going on in my life. She has always been there for me, my biggest fan and supporter, always knows the right things to say to make everything better, and most importantly loves me in a way no one else does. Motherhood is something I always thought I understood but never truly did in it’s entirety until moments like that Wednesday.
I hope I am half as good of a mom as mine is. The type of mom that never considers sacrifice anything less than a privilege, has a never-ending supply of patience, an incredible amount of strength that bears the weight of many worries, doesn’t take one thing in life for granted, lives fully present in the lives of her children, and loves with the deep, unlimited, endless love a mother’s heart is capable of.
And on that Wednesday, just as I finished that deep, prayer filled breath, my mom arrived. There are no words in this language to thank her for all that she is to me or to tell her how much I love her. Thank you, Mom, for being mine. I love you.