I have a confession: I am a crappy and unoriginal gift-giver, and this goes all the way back to my childhood. My Mother’s Day gifts to my mom were usually coffee mugs because she liked coffee. Every year. Coffee mug. What woman doesn’t want a cabinet filled with mugs that she has to clean? Oh, that’s right. Every woman in the history of ever.
I’m sure she loved the mugs because they were gifts from her child, but the repetitive nature of my Mother’s Day gifts brings me to the heart of my post: what Mom REALLY wants for Mother’s Day.
She wants alone time.
When you become a mom, taking a one-hour trip to the store alone becomes a luxury. The best time I've had in recent months? Me. Target. Starbucks in hand. Pawing through a bunch of crap I don’t need while NO ONE IS TOUCHING ME. Wanna know what I bought during this glorious excursion? A dress I’ll probably never wear, a pair of shoes I don’t need and a cookie the size of my face. You know who I’m going to share the cookie with? NOBODY. I’m going to eat it ALL BY MYSELF AND NOT SHARE IT WITH ANYONE.
She wants to use the bathroom in peace.
No one told me that when I became a mom I was going to have to kiss my bathroom privacy goodbye. At first, it was my fault; when my daughter was an infant, I dragged her around the house with me (including into the bathroom) because I was convinced that if I left her alone, she would be stolen by jackals. Nowadays, she follows me into the bathroom, and some of her hobbies while I’m on the toilet include pelting me with various action figures and cackling, climbing all over me and writhing about like some kind of gigantic worm, and licking me on the face. A day where I did not get hit in the face with the Incredible Hulk and slobbered on while trying to pee would be splendid.
She wants silence.
Not total silence, mind you. It would just be great to NOT hear any of the following phrases:
—Why? (repeated 50 times)
—Mama? Mama? Mama? Mommy? MOMMY.
—I found a booger!
—... I ate my booger.
—Why do you have hair under your arms?
—Do you have boobs?
—Do you like ‘em?
—Do I have boobs?
—Let’s talk about tree frogs.
—Let’s talk about tree frogs again.
—NO, SAY IT THIS WAY!!!!
She wants alcohol. Lots. Of. Alcohol.
When I was pregnant, I would rub my belly and coo in the sanctimonious tone that only a pregnant woman can possess, “When I become a mom, my drinking days are over.” Of course, now that I’ve been a mom for a while, I know better. Trust me when I say that there is no human being on earth that needs a freaking drink MORE THAN A MOM. Anyone who says they don’t need a drink after the 150th time of hearing “Mama? Mama? Mama?” is a filthy liar. You know you want some wine. Or beer. Or straight vodka. It doesn’t really matter. Just drink it before you go insane.
The last thing Mom really wants this Mother’s Day is a giant contradiction of everything I’ve already mentioned, but being a mom is a complicated. We’re all crazy and are allowed to make no sense.
She wants to spend time with the people who made her a mom.
Motherhood is really strange, and our children can really wear us down. Even though she sometimes exhausts me, the No. 1 thing that I want for Mother’s Day is to spend time with my daughter because if it weren’t for her, I wouldn’t be celebrating at all. After my alone time, I want to come home and scoop my baby girl up when she flings herself into my arms and hug her tight. After we play and it’s time to sleep, I want to tell her a story, tuck her into bed, snuggle her and tell her that I love her to the moon and back.
After all that—I want a beer. Or three. Or four. OK, let’s be honest, I want five beers, because I just had to pretend to be Flynn Rider for an hour straight.
It’s no wonder most of us go a little crazy after we have children. They have the power to drive us insane, to break our hearts and to challenge us in ways that no one else can ... but they also ignite a fierce and powerful love inside of us that no one else gets.
That love is truly a reason to celebrate, so happy Mother’s Day to all the moms out there. But seriously—go drink some wine before you hurt someone.
Natalie Green is a Chicago girl living in Chattanooga with her husband and their 3-year-old daughter. When she’s not working full time outside of the home, she enjoys reading, writing, singing, zombies and running. From zombies. And also beer. You can stalk her blog, Mommy Boots, or follow her on Twitter @mommyboots, or you can email her directly at firstname.lastname@example.org. The opinions expressed in this column belong solely to the author, not Nooga.com or its employees.
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