As the ultimate celebration of motherhood approaches, I find myself revelling in the fact that I am actually a mother. It is hard for me to believe that the princess of all things party, the backstage butterfly, the self professed gypsy is actually parenting (a doing a damn fine job if I might say so myself) a spirited two year old boy.
Raised by my father while I smoked weed with my mother, I never aspired to be a mom. I never wanted that. My mother had done some things that completely turned me off of the idea. I think our relationship eventually frightened me into believing that if I ever had a child I would treat him or her the same way she treated me. I could not imagine that.
When I found I was expecting the future love of my life, I was scared and selfish. I was having a blast in NYC. I stayed out all night, I ate for free (thanks, Chef), I hung out with c list celebrities (hi jimmy) and rockstars. I didn't want a baby, hell I didn't even know if I wanted a boyfriend. But when it came down to it, something or someone (gma) encouraged my path to change. The road to motherhood would be my next journey.
After an excruciating 48 hours of labor, I knew I had become a completely different woman. I knew from the moment I laid eyes on my son that my purpose in this life was to be a mother. My life had chad changed in that split second and would never be the same again. I had (and still do) an air of confidence that was almost immediately instilled into my soul. I knew from day one that I was a fabulous mother. That may sound cocky or bold but I knew it as true, in fact I still do. The job description molded me into who I am now. I am a woman. I am a wife. I am a goddess. I am a lover. I am a daughter. I am a sister. I am a mother.
Something inside of me had grown and developed into this instinctual know how. It was like as Catcher grew inside me, the manual of motherhood was memorized into my brain. I felt the part. I wasn't nervous, well maybe a little, but for the most part I knew that I was doing fine. Better than fine.
Today, while Catcher actually naps, I sit and I look back on how I have done as a mother. How do I judge myself? Do I relish in the fact that my son eats vegetables and drinks milk every day, brushes his own teeth and adores Cat Stevens? Should I give myself a pat on the back for this? More often than not, I don't. I skip the celebration of my motherhood because I don't have the time. I am a prego mother of a toddler boy. I don't sit down. I dance. And I love it. I can't wait to do it all over again.