I spent years wanting to be a mom. The first were in that, when will we be ready, how many kids will we have, kind of way. Then there were the ones I never talked about: Is it me? Will it ever happen, kind of way?
We don’t talk about it because most don’t so no one does. It’s so easy for me to say it now, now that I have my girls, but I always look back with regret: yes, I’m private, but why do we do that to ourselves? Why do we let people remind us that we’ve been married for a long time or that we’re getting older, and we just nod or make a joke? Why do we let people tell us that there’s no reason that we can’t work on Mother’s Day because we’re not a mom (and hello, I still have a mom who I want to be with)? Why, when we finally tell people we’re pregnant, after a cautious first 16 weeks, do we let people say, it’s about time. And, why do we again, joke, when people ask if we’re going to give our first born siblings?
I am so grateful and proud to be a mom to my girls, and I’m happy to wake today with them in the next rooms. But I know now, how challenging it is to be a mom, to be the person trying to keep it all together. I know that there are so many people who want to know these days: the hugs, the drama, the noise, the strong-willed kids, the maddening moments and the love.
This morning, I was attempting to sandwich these delicate cookies together: some cracked, the most perfect circle slipped out of my hands and shattered. I matched a few that had no place together, because I didn’t have a choice. None of it was the way I thought it was going to be when I first spotted the recipe in @bonappetitmag
5 months ago. But, perspective. There are cookies in a container, ready to go to my sister’s where we’re lucky enough to celebrate with our mom, our third sister, our 4 girls and our guys. The cookies are not what I thought they would be, and neither is my family. Ten years ago, I was pretty sure I would have kids way older than they are, and maybe more. But, I have a box of ragtag pecan lace cookies with blueberry-lime buttercream, who are who they were meant to and the kids who were meant to be mine. Happy Mother’s Day to every mom, every hopeful mom.