Dia de la Madre

It's indescribable. But I'll try writing this post, anyhow...

For a long time now, my family has gathered together for a Mother's Day brunch. It was really to honour our mother. But for many years, it was a gathering I would dread. I hated going. After losing one baby, then trying trying trying for a number of years for another, then losing a second baby six years after the first baby...

Well, I'm sure you can imagine. It was a bit painful to be out for brunch where I was literally surrounded by mothers being celebrated and motherhood, the focus of the day. Everywhere I looked there were mothers and their little children, flowers and laughter and smiles and, best of all, homemade cards from their little ones.

I bit my lip, my tongue, tried to swallow my envy down with the pancakes and syrup, but it would just get stuck in my throat and I'd go home, curl up in bed and cry myself asleep into my pillow.

Eventually, I had to tell my parents I wouldn't be attending the family Mother's Day brunch. I just couldn't do it. I made a point of going separately to my mom's and giving her a card and gift that morning or the day before. They both understood my decision.

Last year was the first time in many years I attended the brunch. I was so round and ready to burst, literally as I would give birth three days following Mother's Day. I felt safe celebrating it a little early.

But today. Today was my very first official Mother's Day as a mommy finally. There was snow on the ground this morning. This, after record temperatures in April reaching 25 degree, summer-like weather.  On the drive to meet my family, the sky was full of fluffy, white clouds. And I thought that is just what my heart feels like today: bright, white, fluffy, weightless, glorious, breathtaking. Like a cloud without rain. Like a cloud whose precipitation is pure and white and falls slowly and gently and quietly on a May morning such as this.

How do I properly put it into words just how I feel this day? Nursing him this morning, I made sure the tears that flowed down my cheeks didn't hit the soft curls of his hair. Tears of relief. Of pure ecstasy. Of longed for Joy. Tears for the babies I'd lost. Tears for the baby I found. The baby I have now. Smiles and tears.

I overhear people bemoaning parenthood all the time. Rolling their eyes in collusion over the burden it sometimes is, and according to some, often is, as though it is more often than not. And even as a parent now, I remain in mute astonishment towards this attitude. I wonder if I will ever get to a stage where I take this gift for granted? This amazing gift bestowed and entrusted to me. To parent the child I have. Would I, too, be one of these nodding, winking people had I not endured such a battle to have my child? Would I, even if I'd had the struggle I've had, if my baby had been colicky, not so easy, not so perfect as he's been? I admit I have a hard time imagining me ever taking this gift for granted after all the years of wanting it for so long and dreaming of it and hoping for it and having those hopes dashed time and time again.
People say, "you must be tired." "You look exhausted." And I know I do. I am tired somedays. But it's a happy tired. It's a "I'm so goddamn lucky" tired. I wouldn't trade it for all the sleep in the world. People say, "it must be hard on your own." But I know, having lived both sides now: I would rather be alone with this gift of a child, than be with somebody without this gift. If I only had those two options, I know which one I would choose. Have chosen.

I am so lucky lucky lucky. I know so many women who have struggled with infertility. Who still do. Who have had one or more IVFs in their struggle and whose IVF surgeries failed in some way. The fact that mine worked on my first attempt, resulting in the birth of my beautiful Sonshine, is unfathomable to me after all the years of failed attempts and despair, loss of hope.

This day. To celebrate this day, finally! I cannot describe it. But I will say, it feels like heaven. And I am over the moon this day.

Today, before leaving for brunch. I caught a gift outside my front window: a very pregnant robin perched on the wooden stoop in the snow. A sign, perhaps. A message...

Happy, Happy Mother's Day.

Cabin Fever

So my car has been malfunctioning and, for the last week and a half, my little sonshine and I have been housebound. It's currently in the shop and what happens when I drive my rental home today? It gets stuck in the driveway so I'm still without the use of a car. (Merde.) And because we're a bit remote to begin with, I have begun typing, "All work and no play makes Jane a dull girl. All work and no play makes Jane a dull girl." on my laptop. Endlessly. Crazy-like...

Also, lately, I slosh out to the garage in my mukluks to gather an armful of firewood and start to scream, "Heeeeeeeere's Mommy!" as I open the door to re-enter the house, with a maniacal grin and bug-eyed glare. It's kind of scaring me. But it only makes my son giggle incessantly. I never could pull off a Jack impersonation all that well. I lean closer to a mixture of Chris Walken meets Björk, which is pretty scary in and of itself, but still only evokes snickering on the part of my baby boy.

It has been an odd month. For one thing, it's January and I see grass all over the front lawn this week as the weather begins to grow warmer. Sonshine and I watch it pierce the snow along with our hearts through the window with not a little melancholy and I think to myself, "This. This is how a snowman feels when he melts." Seeing green in the middle of Winter makes me see red. As a snow-lover, grass in January just bites a Yeti-sized arse, in my opinion. I figure if we're going to be housebound, we might as well be snowbound, too. It would provide the opportunity for us to actually leave the house and roll around in some white stuff just to relieve ourselves of this cabin fever, if nothing else. Call me Smilla, but I happen to miss terribly those fluffy, nightmarish blizzard-ridden winters of my youth. The ability to make snowangels while still standing, leaning back into great, big drifts higher than your head. Where did those winters go?

I hear Vancouver is worried about the weather for its Winter Olympics. No shit. I mean. No snow, obviously. Who plans a WINTER Olympics in Vancouver in mid-February? As Karl from Uptown Waterloo Men's Hockey Glob so wisely and astutely puts it, isn't that their Springtime out West? The only saving grace about Vancouver in the wintrytime is it reminds me so much of Ireland. Same weather, really. But I was in Vancouver two Februaries ago and massive rhododendron bushes were in full bloom everwhere! Yet, even Vancouver had snow last January (a sure sign of climate change). I recall watching a breathtaking snowfall there, December of 2008.

Only yesterday, I took my temperature and I'm pretty sure either I've come down with cabin fever or possibly Olympic fever. More likely the latter, especially since my wee laddie touched the torch when it ran through a nearby town just after Christmas. This is the very kind of circumstance which makes me question whether not having a televison in my home is the right decision, after all. Guess I'll have to feed my fever via radio and print media. (Is it 'feed a fever, starve a cold' or vice versa?)  I don't have cable so if I plug in the telly currently on the shelf in the garage, the only image I'm likely to get is some white noise. Maybe that won't make me miss the snow so much. I'm not a religious girl, but I'm praying for a snowsquall. I'm praying for snow to fall here and I'm praying for it to fall on all those gold-medal-hopeful Olympians. I'm down on my knees, baby, beggin' you please please. I'm listening to too much Otis Redding, apparently. But can one ever listen to too much Otis Redding? I think not.

Allow me to reiterate, standing on a melting lawn in January is not fun (I'll add a miserable photo or two tomorrow). I thought the one good thing about global warming, if there's any good to be had of it, is that we'd be absolutely deluged with those winters of my youth in spades. Shovels, rather. Since it has to be fairly warm to snow and since the planet has been warming a few degrees the last while, I thought for sure it would snow snow snow until we were all buried in the white stuff. And I miss it. I'm crossing my fingers for a ginormous blizzard this week or next. At least one or three before end of March. Only then will I feel satiated, snow-wise.

For now, I've put Jadis-Snow-Queen-slash-White-Witch-of-Narnia, Bing Crosby and the Snow Miser all on speed-dial so I can text some emergency personal messages to them ASAP. If one of those characters can't make it like we're all living in a snowglobe, then either I'm going to start chopping down doors instead of kindling or I'm going to don a swan dress and play russian roulette.

I'll tell you this much: if that kid so much as starts to crack a smile, well...at least I'll be secure in the knowledge that my heart can melt right along with the front yard.

Music: The Shining, Badly Drawn Boy