On Being "Michael's Mom"

Eighteen hours of labor. And then a C-section. That is how Michael came into the world. It was the hardest thing I had ever done, but it is not what I really remember about his birth. What I remember is the next day. It is early morning and I hear him crying…I am in the hospital and I hear him in the distance crying. The thing is, I have not heard him cry yet, so how do I know it is Michael? But, there is no question in my mind that my son is crying and he is not happy and I try to get out of bed but that is not possible. I am completely sore, stapled, and the drugs must have worn off because I feel pain. So, I start calling to him. I hear nurses talking and him crying but they do not hear me so I muster all my energy and just start screaming his name. This interrupts their conversation and within seconds they wheel Michael into the room and yes, he is crying his head off. I am ferocious and the look on my face makes both nurses apologize over and over. I reach out and they place my son in my arms and all is well for both of us.

As I hold him I think to myself; yesterday I gave birth, but today I am a MOTHER.

From that day forward my world changes. I instinctively know things about motherhood and there is so much love inside of me for this pooping, screaming, yellow thing that it surprises me immensely. My husband tells me I am glowing, and I do feel that glow from the inside out.

Fast forward a few years and Michael is in school. It is not the first day of school that I remember, it is a regular old Tuesday and I am going to pick up Michael from his afterschool program. As I walk to the building a little girl and her Mom are walking in the opposite direction…we exchange nods and hellos but as we pass I hear the little girl say to her Mom in a loud whisper…”that’s Michael’s Mom!” and, my heart grows three sizes that day. Michael’s Mom! I am Michael’s Mom! Even now, all these years later that is the name I identify with and relish. It fills me with the love I will always carry for him no matter that he is 22 and on his own and doesn’t need me in the same way anymore. 

It is who I am.

I’ve often wondered why I love that moniker so much. I think, now, it just encompasses everything that is important. It signifies the little day in and day out events that make someone a Mother and somehow makes it all worth it. Yes, I am the one who wakes up w/ him in the night when he is sick, I am the one he gets mad at because I discipline him, I am the one who tells him to clean his freaking room a hundred times before he does it. I am HIS mother. He is mine and I am his. It is that bond that binds us together forever and ever and ever.

As his Mother, there have been times that have grieved my soul, there have been times when we have laughed ourselves silly, there have been times that we cried together, and there have been times when I have been so mad I literally wanted to send him to his room until he was 35. I have prayed over him and steadied myself from saving him from a needed lesson learned.

As a mother, I am of course, proud of my son. He is still the apple of my eye and the one good thing I have done in this world. I have regrets and wish I would have done some things differently, but I have loved (almost) every minute of it. I look at him and love the person he has grown into…and looking back at the past 22 years of being Michael’s Mom, my heart again grows and I feel that glow rising up inside of me. It is love; love of a child and knowing I am still that ferocious Mom should the need ever arise.

Happy Mother’s Day