Once A Year

It only comes once a year. Yep, that's it. A holiday in which you are required to tell your mother how much you appreciate her for: the nine months of pregnancy that caused her stretch marks and made her vericose veins worse, 23 hours of labor that some sadist told her wouldn't be so bad and she'd miss out on the beauty of child birth if she had an epidural, two hours of pushing without results and the ensuing c-section that brought you into the world. There were the first couple of weeks when she didn't realize she didn't have enough breast milk and you cried, out of hunger, constantly and she cried with you because she felt so incapable. There was the exhaustion that made her demand your father go to the store and buy formula because obviously, after hearing other new moms at church talk about their leaking breast milk, she didn't have enough to sustain you and didn't think there might be alternatives. There was the sweetness of you still nursing, despite what little your earned for it, for another five and a half months because - and maybe you did know this - she needed it to feel she'd experienced all of the motherhood she'd yearned 35 years for since you'd be her only one. There were the sleepless nights, the weening from the bottle to a sippy cup, the sippy cup to a cup with a lid and straw, the straw to a big cup (that you still often use a straw in, but not because you can't drink it any other way). There was the weening from a pacifier, the plug, as we called it. It was all so easy and sweet and quick. Then there was potty training. Not so easy or sweet or quick, but eventually you got it and in all the years since, you'd only had one accident - not that I'd expect you to at this stage in the game. Then there was preschool and having other mother's so impressed that you could sing your alphabet, sign your name and count and name colors so well. Kindergarten brought on "real" school days and there was the sending you off thinking how hard it would be and you just turned around and waved saying, "Bye, Mama", already not missing her much. But to make up for that, you ran into her arms at the end of the school day when she picked you up and all the things you talked about on your way home from school.

I still cherish those moments - in the car after school when you talk to me about whatever is on your mind. First grade was hard...for me. You were gone all day and I started to volunteer at school just to feel like I was still a part of your life during the day, I think. Well, and to be what I had always thought motherhood should be. I missed you soooo much those first few weeks. Then I saw how much you were learning, the friends you were making, how much you loved to read and learn, how much you loved your teachers and school in general. I saw so much joy in your eyes. It filled up my heart and made it overflow. I cherish those times when you come to me for a quick hug or to read something you've written. You are an artist with the written word and I know one day you will have stories published to share with everyone and they will know they've read some of the best stuff out there. I marvel at the mind inside your head, the thoughts that are in it, the creativity. I marvel that here we are, 12 years into this amazing journey, and I still feel an overwhelming joy every time I see you. I smile the moment I see you walking toward the car when I pick you up from school and wonder what will be on your mind when you get in. I feel my heart well up with love when I send you off - to school, young women's, a friend's house - because I know I'll miss you while you're gone. I try not to think of the day I will send you off to college, to marriage, maybe on a mission and you will be away for longer than ever before. You will be grown up and though my mothering and love and joy in you will be just as powerful, just as available, just as amazing, you will be grown and on your own. Even so, I look forward to that, too, because what I really want has little to do with myself and everything to do with you. I want the best for you.

So, even though college is still at least 6 years away, I want you to know that I pray every day for your safety, your happiness, that you will not be drawn into this world's negativeness but be filled with the love of your Heavenly Father. I want you to know your dad and I love you, no matter what, unconditionally. I hope for peacefulness in our world and that no matter your age or where you are in life, that I can be there - that you will know I am there - to guide you, love you, give of myself to you. Because I'll tell you something, little girl of mine, YOU are my Mother's Day gift. You are what it's all about for me. You are the best, most precious and what I'm most grateful for in my life. And Mother's Day might come once a year on the calendar, but since the day I first knew of your existance inside me, every day has been Mother's Day for me. And it's the ride of my life. I love you, Boo.