The year was 2005. It was my first official Mother's Day. The one prior I was pregnant, which didn't officially count yet to anyone around me. But it was finally the first one. I bought up over a dozen of cards for family and friends. I remembered the grandmothers, even an honorary one, Godmother, my sister-in-laws, the great-grandmother, and also bought ones for our own mothers. I was even excited when I sent one to a pregnant friend. I saw Mother's Day cards in a whole new light that year, probably due to my own excitement of finally being a mother, something I had wanted so badly.
That night at 9 o' clock, I was standing in the front aisle at The Retail Giant picking through the last remains of cards. It wasn't at all like Hallmark, and since it was the night of the holiday, the choices were slim. Regardless, I found myself buying my own Mother's Day card for my very first holiday. I couldn't contain myself as tears were streaming down my eyes, something I don't allow much in private, let alone in public. That was the worst part, actually. Someone could have seen me, but there wasn't anything I could do to hold them back. I tried.
I bought myself two that night. I liked this one "First Mother's Day" card in particular as well as a classic Winnie the Pooh one from a child. Most people get one from their child as well as their spouse, so even though I deemed it as frivolous, I knew it was okay. I'm sure my cheeks were red stained and damp by the time I checked out. I remember being self conscious and I remember the cashier asking about my day. All I wanted to do though was sit in my car and cry. And then I felt bad about it. At least I'm a mother.
Every year, I am reminded of that painful first day of ridiculous expectations. It's not as though I expected anyone to return the favor of cards. That's not how I do things, and no one else around me does either. That's okay. I didn't expect cards from them that day. But I did expect them from my husband. At least one. And even though a friend of mine thought he should have at least given me a gift, it was never about that. It was about the sentiment. It wasn't even about the fact we did nothing that day, that we wasted the opportunity to do something, yet showed up to his parents hours early. It was about it being my very first Mother's Day, and I didn't have my own papered greeting.
My husband later saw the cards the next day and said, "Was that truly necessary?" It was. It really was, although I can't explain to you why.
I have felt stupid and petty ever since over the desire for a card. And most years, I still don't receive one. Yet, I always wait for it. And the years I don't receive one, reminds me of that first year, and that feeling of regretted despair. After all, I should be grateful I am a mother at all, something not all women get to experience. I should revel in the handmade cards my child has made me since that first holiday. I don't expect gifts, because that's not the type of marriage I have, and I shouldn't expect cards either, but for whatever reason, being a mother means so much to me that I expect some darn souvenir for it. And then comes the shame afterwards.
I think the expectation is what bothers me more. I should know better. Perhaps it makes me human, but yes, there is a small part of me that would like someone to put just a wee bit of the effort that I put into everyone else. And unfortunately, that first year set a precedence, or at least a traumatic memory that can't be removed. It ruined following Mother's Days. I would once again scramble around getting everyone gifts and cards, and then the day would come and I would be out mowing. I have mowed more Mother's Days than I haven't. Few Mother's Days have been successful. I am partially to blame, as I never fully recovered from that first year. I allowed that first holiday to mark a series of inadequacies, and I've never figured out how to change the course of the holiday. Over the years, I've sent less cards to a few people, but have then added teachers, as they have more involvement with my child. I've morphed the day into a day for everybody else, to make sure I am neutralized. I've removed any expectation of the day for myself. In fact, I've removed myself from the equation. Sometimes I even forget it's a day for every mother.
To most people, it's just a card. It was just a card. And so silly to buy yourself, and many people have laughed about the fact I indeed bought myself my own. But those people wouldn't understand. They've been given one. And they probably only sent out a couple themselves. It was just a day to them. But for me, it was to be a celebration.
Until it wasn't.
Regardless, I am eternally grateful for the chance to be a mother. And every time I feel down about it or I remember those tear filled eyes at 9 o' clock in 2005, I remind myself at least I'm a mother. But it doesn't mean I don't secretly want to be celebrated that one day every year. And it doesn't mean I don't get a little sad about it later. It also doesn't mean that every Mother's Day has been a complete and utter failure. But it's never been the same for me, and someday, I hope that changes. It's just a papered greeting after all. It doesn't change the fact I'm a mother, something I had wanted so badly.
I understand....more than you know.
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