I don’t generally write much about my children, nor about the mothering role — especially now that the three of them are grown and I’m off-duty. I figure it’s not their fault their mother is a writer, which often means using what happens personally for the work of words, but I try to leave them out of it. They can tell their own stories.
But “mother” is a role/name/fact that’s a huge part of my life, and today I’m celebrating the day it began. It all started 33 years ago today when the little fellow, pictured left at 3 months, was born. (He gave permission to post the photo.) I don’t think you can ever imagine at the time what it will be like to be bound up with another person for the long haul the way a mother is, but you discover it — through joy and difficulties — as you go, and I can say this for sure, the child who started it and his two siblings who followed (whose baby photos I will post on their own birthdays, if they let me) have definitely, definitely been worth it all. (Especially now that I’m off-duty.)
(Happy birthday, S! And also, D., who launched another woman on the mom adventure this day too.)