The Year-Round Gift: 10 Reasons I’m Thankful to Be a Mommy
I spend enough time feeling overwhelmed — this is the time of year to count my blessings.
-April Daniels Hussar
As a mommy and a writer, I spend a lot of time complaining. Complaining about how overwhelmed I am, or how much there I have to do, or how annoying it is that I packed a lunch on hot-lunch day, can’t find any matching mittens, forgot to send money to school, or got stuck bringing fruit dip to the holiday party. (Am I the only person in the universe who has never heard of fruit dip?) Complaining about my first name changing to “Mom”, the piles of papers that threaten to overwhelm my entire house, the death of sleeping-in, the sad, sad thing that has happened to my boobs …
But you know what? Being a mommy really isn’t all that terrible. In fact, at the risk of ladling on too much holiday treacle, I can say it’s my favorite thing in the whole world. It’s kind of hip these days to complain, and talk about what Bad Mommies we are, and don’t think I plan to stop doing any of that (Did I mention my daughter nicknamed my boobs Flopsy and Mopsy? Yeah.). But as I get ready to celebrate Thanksgiving with my husband and our 7-year-old daughter, I’m reminded of all the things that I love about being a mother:
1. Realizing how strong mother love really is.
I’ve always been close to my mom, but I never really understood just how much she loved me until I became a mother myself. I know exactly how she feels about me – how she’s always felt about me – because that’s how I feel about my Isabella.
2. A warm, sticky little hand in mine.
3. Snuggly afternoon couch naps.
They used to be a daily occurrence when Isabella was a baby. Now that she’s in first grade and I work full time, they’re rare, treasured treats.
4. Having something absolute and unquestionable.
There’s nothing I wouldn’t do, nothing I wouldn’t sacrifice for my daughter. The experience of unconditional love — it’s what true faith must feel like, and I’m grateful to feel it, even though it’s terrifying when I stop and realize that the biggest, most vulnerable piece of my heart lives outside my body.
5. The way the top of my daughter’s head smells.