Becoming Mom

Writer's note: For my mom, happy Mother’s Day. I love you.

She graduated in June, turned 18 in September, married in October, and gave birth to me in December. My birth marked the end of my mother’s childhood and the beginning of her life as a mom.

She said she always wanted to be a mother, even as a little girl. I just don’t think her dream was to start so early. But, it did, and she made the best of it. She had two daughters- me and my oldest sister- with my father. They went on to divorce like many young married couples do. She became a single mom of two very young girls by her early 20’s. She eventually remarried and went on to have two more children, my sister and my brother. Four children and she was exactly what she always wanted to be, a mother. The road to her dream was not easy but she traveled it well.

By the time my brother was born, I was a full fledged teenager. He was born by cesarean leaving my mom unable to walk for a few days. Everyday after school I would sprint to the birthing center to bring him to her. It was worth every second to see her face light up with the smile of a brand new mom as I would hand him to her. She was born to be our mom.

We had our struggles as I asserted my independence. Curfews and groundings were common place. But more so was her support of me. When I shaved my head she smiled and asked to rub it. When I pierced my tongue she laughed and made fun of my swollen-tongue speech. When I got a tattoo she admired it and then spent the next hour coloring it with markers along side my little sister. She always allowed us to be who we wanted and needed to be. All she asked for in turn was for us to be happy.

She worked hard to raise us to be honest, compassionate people. When asked about a gay relative she would explain that it was no business of ours to judge who he loved. Everyone had a right to fall in love and a right to their privacy. She made it a non-issue. When we questioned skin color she would point out that no one was the same. We all looked different but were all the same on the inside and that was what made us beautiful.

If we came home, upset over someone being mean to us, she would sit us down to talk about it. Her explanation was almost always the same. “I bet they are just jealous of how amazing you are. They do not know how else to deal with it. I am very sorry they were mean, I love you.” And just like that, everything was better.

I owe a lot of who I am today to my mom. Every time I stand up for someone, I silently thank her for raising me to see people as equals, all deserving to be loved.  Now, it is time for me to not so silently thank her.

Thank you, Mom. Regardless of our differences, it is our similarities that matter. I can see you in my eyes when I smile. Every freckle on my face comes from yours. My absolute love of being a mother is a direct result of yours. The first time I looked into my daughters face and felt that swell of emotion, that unconditional love, I understood. I understood how you felt. All of your choices became clear. To become a mother is to be reborn. You now live with a piece of your heart in another person’s body. You love so deeply that, at times, it is frightening.

I was once your little girl. I was the new little person who changed you forever. I made you a mom just like my daughter transformed me. Nothing could bring us closer than sharing that experience. Then, watching you as you held your granddaughter, my daughter, for the first time. That changed everything.

Mom, thank you. Thank you for giving me life, thank you for guiding me. Thank you for allowing me to make my own mistakes and thank you for loving me through them. Thank you for being there through the good times and the bad. Thank you for encouraging me in my writing and in my life. Thank you for being my biggest fan and loudest cheerleader. Above all, thank you for being you.

I love you, Mom.