my first mother's day

As Mother's Day approaches each year, there are images of moms plastered all over the television: mom's winning awards on the Today Show for being so wonderful, mothers and daughters laughing at inside jokes and memories from their deep, mutual history. I always feel sort of sad on Mother's Day. I can't help it. My own mother died when I was 10 years old, and my stepmother--who raised me and who probably doesn't bother to ever read anything I write here--has let me down again and again. She's never showed any interest in anything I've ever done--playing basketball, getting my education, writing. She thinks my baby is four months old no matter how many times I tell her he's seven months old. I feel like a switch has turned off in me towards her, and I don't think I'll ever be able to turn it back on. So on Mother's Day, I always feel this empty feeling as I scrawl out a card to her and put it in the mail.

But this year, I'm a mother for the first time. And I know what it means to be a mother. This year, Mother's Day was not full of empty emotions and awkward moments. My husband woke up early with the baby and let me sleep in. He brought Ben into our room and Ben bounced on my stomach, and I gave him kisses. We went to my in-laws house and ate breakfast (thanks Jill and Bridge!) and spent the day with Mary, my mother-in-law, who is, honestly, more of a mom to me than anyone else has ever been. This year I spent Mother's Day the way I wanted to--with people who love me and make me feel good about myself and with my son, whom I love more than anyone in the world.

I'm sorry if anyone in my family reads this and gets offended. But it's my blog. If you have something to say, start your own.