I had a happy Unmother’s Day yesterday. There wasn’t a whiff of a card, gift or even a cup of tea from my lot, so I decided to celebrate it in style by taking the dog on a long riverside walk.
I was able to do this because my husband had offered to visit my Dad in hospital. “It’s not just to help you out, I would really like to see him,” he said.
That warmed my heart no end along with the fact that he took my 18-year-old son along and they didn’t argue once. Unheard of!
Child two did 10 hours of revision (she is a relentless perfectionist) and child three went for a run with her friend. Before she left, she sidled up to me and whispered “I didn’t get you anything for Mother’s Day because I knew you wouldn’t expect it.”
Child three says it as it is you see. She’s right, I didn’t expect it. I sent my own mother flowers, but did not anticipate my kids celebrating my mothering.
I made an effort not to be childish about it. I remember my maternal grandmother’s displeasure at some of the gifts she was presented by my sisters and I. “Why did you get me that?” she would say with palpable annoyance.
I did however remind my three that it was my birthday the next day (today). Turns out it was too gentle a reminder as once again, not a whiff of anything. Not even a ‘Happy Birthday.’
I can’t blame the kids. I have created this family unit where there is one person who doesn’t matter that much. One person who won’t be upset if they get no birthday greetings and is never cherished. One person who doesn’t feel worthy.
I am on this spiritual journey now where a huge part of the task is self love. Hopefully, I’ll be so massively into my self by this time next year, I won’t be able to move for Mother’s Day and birthday gifts.