Though I never got to see your face, know that I think of you and wish we could have met today....

I didn't see you planting your roots so deep
until today
I didn't hear your footsteps walking away
until today
in the dark corners where no one goes, you are
exposed; revealed; renewed in time.

I mourn the canvas where your face should be
But your hello and goodbye dyed my life a deeper shade of grateful
for the things we say farewell to
for sisterhood's droplets of strength
and for fresh buds that will blossom in the spring.

"Mother's Day"

My first two official Mother's Days weren't great, I'll be honest. Although there was a certain special novelty to finally being able to celebrate this milestone in my life, my first was spent shut in a spare room with a screaming 1-month-old who woke up and demanded to be fed at the exact moment dinner was being served. She proceeded to take 40 minutes to nurse, then had a massive, change-all-clothing poop incident. By the time I got out of there, dessert was almost over. My second Mother's Day was literally spent enduring a painful reminder that there are no guarantees in motherhood; our bodies and emotions are always fully exposed, vulnerable to what life will bring and take away. Sometimes irony irks me.

So I've decided that MY true Mother's Day is the day when, several months ago, my firstborn decided to make the word "Mommy" part of her vocabulary. She started saying "Dada" and then "Daddy" quite early in her life, probably before she even hit 6 months of age. She began to use the M sound once in awhile, but not very directly to me. Sometimes she would babble "mamamamamama" when she was crying. Hmph.

Then, on a date I can't remember and couldn't care less about, she finally took this step as a toddler and announced to me my role in her life. "Mommy," she said (though it sounded like Mammy, which is even cuter). "Mommymommymommymommy". MOMMY. Knowing my child as I do, I suspect that she chose to wait even though she'd long had the ability to speak this word. She didn't want to go through phases of awkwardly or incorrectly saying Mama before adapting it and perfecting it to Mommy; she didn't want to say it until she grasped its full meaning and gave it to me as a precious gift. It blew me away.

Every night when I put her to bed, I sit with her in the near-dark while she drinks her bottle. She finishes and hands the bottle off, and snuggles in close to me in a prolonged stillness that is rare throughout the rest of her day. "Say mommy," I always whisper. She pauses. "Mmmmmmammy," she'll whisper back with a little smile.

I know a time will come when hearing "Mommy" shouted/whined/cried repeatedly at me is going to get old and irritating. For now, hearing that searching voice calling for me when I'm upstairs, or asking me for more snack, or recognizing me across the room after an absence.... it's the best gift she could ever give me and I still cherish it every single time.

Thank you, Aven, for giving me my REAL Mother's Day.