The Most Beautiful Day in the World

I was having a "woe is me" day earlier today. Like a full on feel sorry for myself pity party. I woke up to the sound of Claire yelling for breakfast at 6:45; typical day for us around here. And while I stumbled out of bed with anticipation, hoping this day would prove to be extra special, typical is all it aspired to be. No sleeping in. No cards. No breakfast in bed. No gifts. No hot date night or dinner at my favorite restaurant. I cleaned my own house, got the girls breakfast and began breaking up sister fights before I could even begin barking orders for our morning routine.

And that probably would have been just fine, until I logged onto Facebook. You see I know so many cool mothers who are surrounded by so much love this Mom's Day. Post after Facebook post showed gorgeous flower arrangements, delicious looking breakfast in bed, cute/funny/sentimental cards and pretty stellar gifts. Everything I felt my Mother's Day was lacking. And then I stumbled on a post that stopped me in my tracks and put me in my place.

A friend of mine had struggled with infertility for years. She sat childless year after year and watched her friends celebrate Mother's Day. She wanted, more than anything in this world, to be numbered among them. She miraculously became pregnant and few days ago, gave birth to beautiful tiny twin girls, born 10 weeks premature. Because they are so small, they are struggling. They are strong like their mama, and so I'm certain they will grow and thrive and become spunky little babies. But for now a mess of wires and tubes and machines mask their little bodies, as they get comfortable in the NICU, their home for the foreseeable future.

She posted about her first Mother's Day as she hovered close to her preemies, and ended her post with these words:

"It is the most beautiful day in the world.

It is my first mother's day."

I often forget, as I did this morning, that motherhood is a gift, not a right. I have watched more friends struggle with infertility than I'd care to admit. Miscarriages, stillborn babies, horrible pregnancies, premature labor, failed IUI and IVF procedures. Heartbreak after heartbreak after heartbreak. 

I am a lucky one. I not only have two beautiful daughters, but they are two healthy beautiful daughters. And I get to be their mom. Everyday I get to cuddle them. Everyday I get to sing them to sleep. Everyday I get to shape them and teach them and guide them. They are mine to love. Every. Day. 

I often lie in bed at night, frustrated with how my day played out. I yelled too much, hugged too little. I felt unappreciated, invisible. I accomplished nothing, or accomplished great things at the expense of others. I replay the mistakes made and feel guilty for my choices. I screw up. I fail. And then I get up the next day and repeat it all over again. And sometimes I really think I need a mushy card and gift certificate to a spa day to let me know, despite my shortcomings, I'm doing okay. And okay might not be best, but it's the best I can do.

There are women out there that would give anything to be me on my worst parenting day. They would trade anything to have a muddy, Popsicle-covered child scream "MOOOOOMMMM!" at them. They want what I take for granted constantly.  I lose myself in the daily grind and forget that no amount of  powdered sugar topped french toast or long-stemmed roses could compare to the greatest gift I have ever been given. 

My newly-minted mother friend said it perfectly. It is the most beautiful day in the world. 

Simply because I get to be a mother.