Musings of a Lame Duck Mom

A mother holds her children's hands for a little while. . . their hearts forever.

I was going to post this on Mother's Day, but my husband and children kept me too busy celebrating to finish it.  So here it is, in true procrastinator fashion, five days late.

I never intended to become so wrapped up in mothering.  If the truth be known, in fact, there was a time when I thought I didn't want children.  In the heady rush of my feminist awakening, I made big plans, and they did not include little people.

But what did my head know? 

My three children, when they did come, were all surprises.

And so was the mother they gave birth to.

Turns out, loving and nurturing and enjoying small persons whose care, and upkeep, and upbringing I have been entrusted with is probably my greatest gift.  In every sense of the word.

As I approach the end of the thirty-three plus uninterrupted years I have spent as a mom to minor children--my youngest turns eighteen next month--I find myself somewhat at sea. 

My nest is not yet empty.  Two of my children still live under my roof, and the other is ten blocks away.  I am not finished being a mother.  But I am not nearly so actively engaged in mothering as I was even a year ago.

There are some other things I have to contribute, and meaningful--if not lucrative--work that I am doing.  But I am not sure I will ever again be as good at anything, or that I will derive as much satisfaction, or have as much fun as I have had as a mother.

Then again, having backed into this particular phase of my life, perhaps there is something wonderful ahead that I haven't foreseen. . . .

Happy (belated) Mother's Day, to my mother, who taught me more than I acknowledged; to my daughter, who first made me a mother; and to all of us moms, accidental and otherwise!