Mothers

There is Tupperware spread from one end of my house to the other. Harrison keeps bringing me plastic dishes and bowls and making encouraging slurping noises at me while I pretend to eat. When I hand him back the plastic he giggles and runs to the cupboard (where I suppose the imaginary food is kept) and replenishes my plate. When did he learn to pretend?

Like many of you I am trying to figure out what to give my mothers for Mother's Day on Sunday. Flowers? Cards? Chocolate? How does one find a gift to say thank you for the millions of miniscule tasks and events that make up a motherhood? For the love that was given even when we were terribly naughty? For the nights they held us when we were feverish, or heartbroken, or lonely? For putting up with us during the teenage years when we were incorrigible and moody? I don't think I truly appreciated all of the things my mothers did (and still do) until Harrison came home and I realized how very hard it is to balance a child, a marriage, friendships, a household, and everything else life entails all at once.

This year I'm starting to get it. And though I am new to motherhood, I know that Harrison himself is the best gift...I don't want anything but the knowledge that he is safe and well and happy. Perhaps the best gift we can give our mothers is the knowledge that they did a good job...that despite our flaws and indiscretions we are ok, and all of their hard work and late nights were worth it. So, Mom, Cyndie, and Mary...you did good, and we're ok. We're happy. And we understand that you like the chocolates and flowers, so we'll keep them coming, but please know that they are merely a token of the appreciation we feel.

Harry has been amusing himself by pushing my sandal around in his little red car...every once in awhile he stops to take it out to put it on the couch, the chair, the rug, etc. I guess the sandal had some errands to run and Harry is playing taxi driver?

In keeping with Mother's Day thoughts, I can't help but spend time thinking of Harrison's other mothers, his birth and foster moms. I wish they could be flies on my wall for a day to see how happy our boy is, and how happy we are to have him in our lives. He is the sunshine that lights our days. When he smiles my heart surges with a bittersweet joy...sweet because our dreams came true and he is here, making us smile and keeping us guessing as to what he'll do or say next. And bitter because two women who loved him as much as I do are living without him...they are missing his smile at the same time I am basking in its glow. My heart hurts for them both, and as we approach Mother's Day I am extra grateful for the mothers who made it possible for me to be a mother.

Harry has curled up under the table with his favorite blankets, the ones I made for him while we were anxiously waiting for him to come home. His eyelids are heavy and he looks up at me with a sleepy smile. I carry him into his room, read him a goodnight story, and settle him into his crib for a nap. He points to the shelf where his stuffed animals 'sleep' and I bring him his favorite stuffed dog. He cuddles it close, then his eyes close and he's asleep...and I again find myself in awe of what the past year has brought. I'm a mother. Wow.