At just four years old, my son Samuel has experienced his very first Mother’s Day. Like many mothers, I frequently grapple with feelings of inadequacy—wondering if I’m doing enough, if I’m living up to the expectations of motherhood, and if I’m falling short in various aspects of my life. I often carry around a weight of guilt as I juggle my professional responsibilities and family life. The fear of not measuring up has been a constant companion, especially when I scroll through social media and compare my life to the flawless images portrayed online.
My culinary skills certainly won’t land me a spot in a gourmet cookbook; in fact, my kids would probably tell you that their favorite dish from mom is “Pasta Surprise.” This delightful creation is more likely to please the young and those with a very specific palate. I’ve been known to skip pages in bedtime stories—after all, how many times can one read the same book before feeling a little unhinged? On occasion, I’ve even found myself reciting the lines to my patients at work, which has led to some curious looks.
There are days when I realize I haven’t even opened my children’s backpacks in days, meaning I’m relying on them to remind me about field trips and special events. This strategy doesn’t always work out well, leading to missed themes like “crazy hair day.” And yes, I’ve silently thanked the universe for the school schedule when it rained for days on end. Despite these challenges, I’ve often felt like I’m falling short of the ideal mother image.
But this year, Samuel’s first Mother’s Day shifted my perspective. He has been teaching me about the essence of motherhood. Despite being born with disabilities, Samuel possesses a heart full of love and joy that he shares with me. From the moment I enter a room, his eyes light up and he reaches out for me. Through him, I’ve come to understand that being a mother isn’t about perfection or meeting some lofty standard.
Samuel’s experience as an orphan means that he had never known the warmth of a mother’s touch or the sound of loving laughter. In an orphanage filled with antiseptic odors and harsh conditions, he learned to be quiet and self-reliant, devoid of affection. Meals were delivered with efficiency, lacking any trace of love or care. There were no comforting hugs or bedtime stories to soothe his fears.
Through this lens, he has shown me the simplicity of being a mother. For Samuel, I am the one who kisses his scrapes, wipes his tears, and keeps him warm. I am the protective figure who watches for potential dangers, always ready to comfort him with my words and smiles. I embody the scent of home, a mix of fresh laundry and the outdoors. I love him unconditionally, not for who he could be, but for who he is right now.
As I tuck Samuel into bed each night, we have developed a comforting routine. He pats his pillow, asking, “Mommy, night, night?” and I lie beside him, feeling his tiny hands trace my face. In his curious eyes, I see a quest for security, a profound inquiry into what it means to have a mother. When he asks, “Samuel’s mommy?” I wrap my arms around him, inhaling the sweet scent of baby soap, and respond, “Yes, my dear boy, I am your mommy, and I am enough.”
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In summary, Samuel’s journey has illuminated the true meaning of motherhood for me. It’s about love, presence, and nurturing, rather than perfection.