Was I being unreasonable? Was Donna right that I was being entitled to expect any recognition of my first Mother’s Day?
I thought about the past ten months—the sleepless nights, the countless diaper changes, the feedings every two hours around the clock. I thought about the way my body had changed, the way my priorities had shifted, the way every decision I made now revolved around what was best for Lily.
I thought about the morning when Lily had been six weeks old and had developed a fever that sent us to the emergency room at three in the morning. Ryan had been worried, but I had been the one who noticed her breathing was different, who insisted we couldn’t wait until morning to see the pediatrician. I had been the one who held her through four hours of tests and monitoring, who slept sitting up in a hospital chair because she would only calm down when she was pressed against my chest.
I thought about the afternoon when she’d taken her first steps, wobbling unsteadily across the living room into my waiting arms. The joy on her face, the pride in mine, the way she’d immediately turned around and done it again as if she couldn’t believe her own courage.
I thought about the countless small moments that made up the fabric of our days together—the way she’d calm down when she heard my voice, the way she’d reach for me when she was scared or tired, the way she’d laugh at my silly faces and songs.
Wasn’t that motherhood? Wasn’t showing up every day, putting another person’s needs ahead of your own comfort, loving someone so fiercely that their wellbeing became more important than your own—wasn’t that exactly what made someone a “real mother”?
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