In the era of over-sharing, I need to set this point straight. Today is Mother’s Day, and in 2016 that means out-thanking your mother on social media and proclaiming to all of your friends how thankful you are to have procreated. Well. Here it is… my “to be honest” moment.
The best day of my life was not the day I became a mother.
The best day of my life is not a day. It’s not a week. It’s not a love story, and it’s not a fairy tale.
The best day of my life is every day that I get up and show up for my kid and those I care about.
And guess what? That’s every day.
Do I feel like doing it every day? No.
Do I feel like doing it most days? Nope.
Do I often do it wrong? Absolutely. (I also apologize regularly and explain that I’m doing the best I can.)
I just don’t believe that the day I became a mother was the best day. It was actually quite awful; so many bodily fluids, so much anxiety, blood was lost, and a lot of pain and screaming was had on both sides. I realize that’s not nearly as poetic as saying “the day I became a mother was the best day of my life,” but I’m about the honesty today.
The best day of my life is every night I go to sleep knowing I did the best I could for those I love, including my son. And, so far, the best day is a pretty regular occurrence in my life.
For that, I am grateful. That is where the focus is. There is no perfect day, just as there is no perfect person, and the day I do anything (give birth, get married, move West) will never be the day anything is exactly as it should be. I am happy, and I love. My son sees those things, and ideally they’re an area of focus. I love that I love, and I hope he feels what I feel–any day and all days.
God bless those whose lives felt purpose the day they entered motherhood. My purpose wasn’t even fully realized (still isn’t) when I became a mom. I’m hoping my–and our–best days are yet to come.