Happy Mother’s Day to the unsung heroes.
To the ones who weren’t woken up with fresh flowers and breakfast in bed.
The ones who find social media being filled with all these presents and hand written cards a little hard to bear.
To the ones who weren’t given anything today aside from a bigger laundry pile and more washing up.
To the ones who wished this was any other day.
To the ones who were faced with nothing more than “I don’t like you” or silence and slammed doors.
To the ones who bought their own flowers and gifts.
To the ones who were alone today, because Sod’s law states that Mother’s Day will never be on your weekend.
To the ones who’s arms are empty, because of loss or infertility they aren’t holding the babies that they should be.
To the ones who have difficult relationships with their own mother, and to the ones who have lost someone very dear to them.
To the ones who spend every day giving everything they have and yet feel unseen, unheard and unappreciated.
Motherhood is complicated. It’s such a huge combination of so many emotions and feelings. It’s late nights and early mornings, it’s tears and tantrums with very little gratitude and hardly any thanks. It’s ups and downs, laughter and heartbreak – often all in the same day. Sometimes it’s feeling invisible or totally alone. It’s giving everything you’ve got, and then still finding more to give. It’s relentless, it’s constant, it’s pouring from a cup that is very rarely refilled. It’s some kind of magical love pouring through your veins, keeping you going even when you’ve reached your limit.
It’s little hands around your neck, sloppy kisses and raspberries on naked tummies. It’s little arms clutching your legs and tiny bums sitting in your lap. It’s weary arms as you hold them for hours, smelling the top of their heads and kissing their delicious cheeks. It’s hearing “mummy” 4000 times a day, and deep down knowing you wouldn’t change any of it for the world. It’s kissing boo boos and making snacks. It’s laughing at made up jokes and telling the same stories over and over again. It’s hand picked flowers and muddy weeds handed to you with love in their eyes, stones and sticks that you’ll treasure for ages. It’s watching them as they sleep, breathing in all of their tiny features, being truly overwhelmed by the love that they make you feel.
It is not one day. It is not something that can be summed up with a card and a box of chocolates. It’s not something that can be celebrated over a posh lunch. It doesn’t matter how wonderful or how awful today has been, because it is so, so much more than that. It’s every day, it’s everything that you do, it’s everything that you will continue to do for years and years to come. Every day counts, and every time they wrap their arms around you and sigh contently – that’s how you know how loved you are. As they get older and that happens less and less you hold on to the memories a little tighter, and you’re a step closer to them having their own family. That’s when they will truly understand and appreciate all you did. All you gave, all you sacrificed, and how it was always all for them.
To the Mothers who didn’t have a perfect day. To the Mothers who feel unseen and alone. You are seen, you are heard, you are appreciated. You are never alone. You don’t need flowers and a card to feel that. I see you. I see how amazing you are, I see how strong and brave you’ve become. I see you everyday, giving it your all and doing your very best, even when you feel like you’re messing it all up. I know you’ll continue to battle through; and you’ll raise good people who will understand kindness and strength because of you, and because of who you have encouraged them to be.