This is not how I thought I would be spending my first Mother’s Day. I’m not sure what I was expecting; my son is only 9 months old, so even crayon scrawled cards and flowers torn up from neighbors’ gardens are beyond him at this point.
When my brother and I were little, our dad would have us take our mom out for breakfast at this diner across town. Maybe they’d hand out carnations to the mothers.
We made cards at school with handprints or cut-outs of our faces to give to Mom.
Then we’d go to church and the priest would have all the moms stand up for a blessing.
Maybe after lunch we’d visit our Memere and call our Gramie on the phone. Then, we’d go to the garden center to pick out some hanging flowers for Mom.
As we got older, my brother and I started making breakfast in bed for Mom. She was a trooper. Scrambled eggs mixed with cheese and cooked in the microwave. Pancakes that were burnt or still raw in the middle. Fortunately for all of us, by the time we were in high school our cooking had improved.
This year, there won’t be any going out for brunch unless we’re bringing it back home.
No lunch with the grandmothers, that’s for sure.
I wonder if Father will ask the moms to stand during Mass as we’re watching from our living rooms and not in the church.
My husband says he ordered me a gift online. It will be coming in late as shipping times are extended due to the extra cleaning precautions.
I’ve been working remotely from home now for eight weeks. The day care is closed. So I guess that’s something my mom wasn’t able to have. My son is changing so fast and I get to watch it all.
Since we’ve been confined together, his first tooth made an appearance. He’s scooting around the floor now and grabbing on to everything, trying to get a better vantage than the playground of the floor. He’s mastering chewing on solid foods (and rubbing it through his hair). He’s learned to high-five. I’m grateful for the extra moments I get to spend with him. His groggy smile when I retrieve him from his crib after naptime. Our lunchtime walks around the block.
It’s tough sometimes to juggle work and babysitting. My son probably spends too much time in the swing and bouncy chair or balanced in one arm as I try to type with the other. I feel for the moms working while taking care of multiple children or toddlers who can leave the room without being carried.
It’s hard to be disconnected from our “village.” My mom, who drove two hours at the crack of dawn to take care of our dog, clean my house and buy groceries while my son was being born, will be getting a card by mail and a video call instead of hugs and cuddles for her first Mother’s Day as Memere. On Tuesday, we shipped boxes to Nana and Gramie with painted handprints and cards from my son.
We dropped off flowers at the nursing home for Great Gramie, who we have talked to only by phone for the last two months. By the time we see her again, there’s a chance that the potato of a baby that used to sit on her lap will be walking.
Mother’s Day itself this year will likely pass by much like most days of the last eight weeks: rather uneventfully. But I’ll steal some extra snuggles with my little boy, try not to dwell on the things he’s missing out on and make the most of the moments that pass by all too quickly.