Getting angry shakes loose the sadness. This is something that I am coming to realize more and more. Not that I am stomping around like a red-faced toddler, but being angry has always been the easiest way to hide being hurt. This weekend I had my son for five days straight since his father and step-mom were out of town. I spent all these days schlepping him to and from work, giving him money, and barely even seeing him or spending quality time with him. He even worked yesterday, and of course like clockwork was whining and complaining when I made him help me with the grocery shopping. My "gift" from him was a little plant I picked out myself that he paid for, much like my birthday. I know he loves me, but this is a day that is intended to make a decided point of making your mom feel appreciated, and I felt anything but.
The icing on the cake was his relentless texting all night every night while we were trying to watch a show, one of my favorite shows, which needs to be paid attention to to understand. I told him a hundred times to knock off the texting, but he ignored me over and over again. Then when I said it again last night, he told me to "Shut up" and that's when I really was done. I shut off the show and sent him to bed. I am a nice person and I did not deserve to be spoken to that way at all. He wasn't even supposed to be here as his dad was back, but he didn't have school as early today so I asked him if he wanted to stay over again. Instead of me watching my Mad Men, I watched our other show with him then got told to "shut up" when I told him to quit texting for the billionth time. Yes, I am still ticked off, and yes, I am ticked off because I am hurt.
On the other hand, my mom sent me flowers that arrived on Saturday. Why did she send them to me??? I am the child, not the mom. It was a nice and unexpected gesture to be sure, but all it did was make me feel horribly guilty for not sending her anything. I frankly despise holidays. I can't think of any holiday where I felt happy about it instead of resentful or guilty. Thus, I prefer to not even acknowledge them if I can help it. A phone call would be fine. But no, now I was the asshole child who didn't even think to send her mom anything on Mother's Day.
The guilt doesn't stop there. When I think of Mother's Day, I think of myself as a mom, how grateful I am to have had that experience. When I did my obligatory post to my social media yesterday, it was pictures of my son and I, not my mom and I. My mom was a horrible mom when I was growing up. There isn't one thing that I am grateful for when it comes to her part in my childhood, aside from I guess never being homeless or hungry. But she was a horrible mother, and that is something she has come to be more aware of over the years. She tries harder now that it's way too late. She didn't start really trying until maybe a dozen years ago. It's like all of the sudden she realized what a selfish, atrocious person she had been and wanted to force her way into my life. That's not how it works. And it makes me really angry that I have to feel guilty for being angry at her for being a bad mother. To feel guilty for not sending her anything yesterday. To feel guilty that the last thing in the world I would want to do is post a picture of her and I on my social media. I am the guilty one for her being lousy at giving birth to me.
This weekend I also thought about the "what could've beens" of motherhood. In addition to reflecting on how thankful I am to have had such a wonderful son (despite him being a little teenaged butthole this weekend, which honestly isn't like him), I started reflecting on the children I didn't have, too. The abortion I had when I was 18 and in an abusive relationship. We all but intentionally got me pregnant, and I did want to have the baby, but I was so incredibly sick from the pregnancy that I couldn't continue on with it. And then there's the time about a dozen years ago that I was accidentally knocked up by my boyfriend. I wanted to keep that baby, too, but my boyfriend convinced me that we shouldn't. Do I regret not keeping that baby? Not necessarily, no. It wasn't the wrong decision, but maybe it wasn't the right one, either. It just is what happened. So I think about the fact that I am not only a mother to my living son, but to two other children that I let go. And that is a feeling that is very odd and hard to explain.
Without going into spoilers, I will say that last night's Mad Men (which I just watched this morning) summed up what has turned out to be a less-than-stellar Mother's Day all around. About the repercussions you create when you become a mother. How overwhelmingly important that relationship is, and how the way you raise your children ripples endlessly throughout their lives and yours, and their children after that. What a powerful burden and blessing it is indeed.
