Updated: May 24, 2016
Originally Published: May 23, 2016
At just four years old, my son experienced his very first Mother’s Day, a moment that has profoundly impacted both of us.
Like many mothers, I often grapple with feelings of inadequacy, questioning whether I’m doing enough or if I measure up to the lofty ideals of motherhood. Balancing work and family can be a juggling act, and I frequently find myself overwhelmed with guilt. I have convinced myself that I am falling short in my role as a mom.
I must confess, my culinary skills are far from impressive. My children might even claim their favorite dish from me is something I call “Ramen Surprise,” which is likely only appreciated by kids and adults who have completely lost their taste buds. Bedtime stories? Let’s just say I’ve been known to skip pages—especially with “Green Eggs and Ham.” Reading it multiple times a week makes me feel a little loopy, and I even find myself reciting its lines in a singsong voice at work, much to the confusion of my patients.
Some days, I realize I haven’t even checked my kids’ backpacks in days, which means I’m operating on pure instinct. “Winging it” is my motto, relying on my kids to remind me of field trips and special days like crazy hair day. Spoiler alert: this often leads to them going to school with hair that looks like it survived a tornado. I can’t help but feel a sense of relief when they return to school after a long rainy spell. These insecurities linger, especially as I scroll through social media and Pinterest, feeling the weight of comparison with my six children.
But this year marked Israel’s first Mother’s Day, and the significance of this occasion hit me hard. Lately, I have begun to feel less inadequate. Through my son, I’ve come to understand the essence of motherhood in a new light. Born with disabilities that affect his legs, Israel possesses a heart full of love that beats for me. I am his anchor, and the sheer joy in his eyes when he sees me is a revelation of what it means to be a mother.
Israel is teaching me that motherhood isn’t about perfection or reaching some ideal. His perspective is pure; he has no preconceived notions of what a mother should be. What does a mother mean to a child who has never had one? What does she feel like, or even smell like?
For four years, Israel sat alone, unprotected from the cold, without a comforting touch to ease his fears or wipe away his tears. He learned to suppress his emotions and expectations. The orphanage was a stark contrast to the warmth of home, filled only with antiseptic smells and distant memories of care he never received. No laughter, no playful chases—just a reality that love must be earned, not given freely.
Through his eyes, I’ve discovered that being a mother is simple yet profound. I kiss his scrapes, wipe his tears, and provide warmth. I protect him from harm, encouraging him with my words. I am the scent of freshly laundered clothes and the embrace of the outside world. My heart beats with unconditional love for him, a love that requires no conditions or expectations. It’s not as difficult as I once thought to embody this motherly love.
Even without a mother in his life, Israel is beginning to define what motherhood means. Each night, as I tuck him into bed, he ponders, “Mommy, night, night?” I lie next to him, feeling his small fingers trace my cheeks. His eyes search mine, seeking reassurance. “Israel’s mommy?” Yes, my sweet boy, I am indeed your mommy, and in this moment, I know I am enough.
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In summary, my son Israel has opened my eyes to the simple yet profound aspects of motherhood. Through his innocence and love, I’ve learned that being a mother is about embracing the role with warmth and acceptance, regardless of societal expectations or my own self-doubt.