I tripped over a blog post today that began Dear Mother.
As I read the post, I discovered that the letter was written as part of a Christmas Project a husband (Mr. Anonymous) was creating for his wife. The Mother Letter Project is a gift written by mothers that Mr. Anonymous will present to his wife as a Christmas gift this year. I won’t go into details about how or why the project came about, but I invite you to visit the link to learn more about it.
As a participant, mothers are asked to write a letter to a mother, from a mother. The letter is to begin Dear Mother and should be signed by the writer. Oh, and if you submit your letter before Christmas, you too, will receive a copy of the letters.
The following letter is my contribution to Mr. Anonymous’ project.
This motherhood thing sure is tricky.
After spending nine long months preparing, reading and praying for the child that is growing inside of you, everything that you read will be considered null and void the first time your sweet little angel poops in an explosive manner splattering the pack-n-play, his third onesie and anything else within a two-mile radius.
And while we’re on the subject of gross, lets not forget the whole breastfeeding thing you are attempting. In breastfeeding class, the lactation guru said it would be natural and glorious and that harps would sound as you provided nourishment for your baby the way no one else can.
She forgot to mention that it might take three long, gut wrenching, disastrous, painful, nerve wracking weeks.
If that’s not enough, just hold on until the first fever hits. You will be certain this is the end of the world as you know it and that your child’s Pediatrician had better have a dandy excuse for waiting twenty-six minutes to return your call.
As you and your bundle-o-joy become better acquainted and you begin to get more than four hours of sleep per night, it gets a little easier and more enjoyable. Before you know it, you will be the resident expert on motherhood and find yourself dosing out advice to other mothers in areas such as the uselessness of generic diapers, the wonder that is Mylicon drops, why it’s okay to give your toothless child cheerios, and, maybe even the history of The Wiggles.
Please do not misunderstand me.
I absolutely love every part of motherhood. It was and remains an awesome learning experience for me. The books, while admittedly helpful did not begin to scratch the surface regarding the trials and tribulations of the daily grind called motherhood.
Motherhood changed me, made me, rearranged me, became me and tamed me.
This change took place in the matter of a split-second.
The split-second between pregnancy and birth.
Once you become a mother the sun shines brighter, the rain smells sweeter, the grass is greener, the flowers smell better and the wind sings a little song as it blows.
It is an honor and a privilege to be a mother. It is an honor I take very seriously. I want to be the best mother I can possibly be because there are no second chances. I want my boys to look back on their childhood and know without a shadow of a doubt that for all of my faults and failures, they were loved unconditionally and with every fiber of my being.
To the world, you are but one person. But to one person, you are the world.
I get it now.
I really get it now.