When I was a child I remember lamenting the fact there was no such thing as “Child’s day” – to which my mum promptly pointed out – “every day is children’s day”. And now that I am a Mummy, I see the reason behind this once befuddling logic.
Being a mum, as rewarding as it is, certainly is not for the faint hearted. Life as you knew it pre parenthood is swept away in a tidal wave of exhaustive emotion. Yet we Mums are, quite simply, magical. We weave spells every minute of the day in the hope our offspring are well nourished, healthy, happy and have the ambition to succeed at anything they choose. We also hope against all hope that they are safe and secure from any evils of the world and use up quite a bit of energy ensuring this is the case.
That’s why we need to celebrate them just one single day of year – so they know their efforts are not going unheard and unseen. Sure, there isn’t much hope of a 20 month old turning to you and saying “Thank you so very much my darling Mummy, for being there to guide me and protect me during this adventure we call life”. No, its the simple, and sometimes unspoken symbols of thanks that belie the most gut wrenching displays of gratitude, like the first of my “hand-made” trinkets from Harrison, which I shall treasure as if it were the Crown of the last Tsar of Russia. Then there are the soft kisses and snuggles of a sleepy babe in your arms, the utterance of “ love you” as your child sees you preparing to walk out the door, the way they launch themselves at you, sub missile style, as you return home…. Little ways of sub consciously saying thanks for being a super Mum and ensuring you know you are on the path to a job well done.
The Husband, although begrudgingly under some misguided notion that Mum’s the world over apparently unjustly demand “the day off” each Mothers Day, certainly gave me a day relatively reminiscent of peace. After the 13hr plus solo parenting days each week, along with the 12hrs away from home when I head off to the paid working world, coupled with ensuring the household runs smoothly (and cleanly!), thank heavens for a single day where its not just my call to keep the family train running to schedule!
He laments that when Fathers Day rolls around that it is expected of them to participate (happily) in “family activities”. He’d prefer to head to the Pub. Well, I’m not sure what part of the day he missed but I vividly recall still being woken up at 6.30am, still doing chores, and still sharing the childcare load, and not once leaving the house sans child for some “me time”.
But to pay him his dues, I’ll vouch I was content to let him change more than his fair share of pooey nappies, and skipped off to laze in a bubble bath to avoid the all out fury that dinner time can be in our house some nights. But such thing as a “day off”- that is but a myth! Happy are those who are strong enough to ignore the dirty washing in the laundry or neglect a full dishwasher on such a day – unfortunately that is not me….