To mom on her birthday...

The thing about being a mother is that before you can be a mother, you have to be a woman first.

That might seem obvious- but it’s actually a radical change from the way that children view the world. When I was little, mom was just mom. It was as though the entire world came into being upon me being born, so mom was always mom, dad was always dad, and my older sister was always my older sister. But that’s just not the case.

Of course I’ve known all of this now for quite some time now- but it took getting pregnant to realize to what extent a person’s identity is tied to having children. I see now that my son will only know me as mom for a long, long time. No one’s ever known me as that. He won’t know who I used to be or what I used to look like until he’s at least old enough to even understand that the world existed before he got here. It’ll take longer still if I do a good job. What do I mean? Well, I never even considered that my mother might have found it kind of a drag sometimes to have us around; she either never felt that way (impossible!) or never let us know it. As far as I have known my whole life, my mother has put me and my sister in front of everything else in her life- that’s amazing.

What’s amazing, too, is that I can’t wait to try it myself. Our little boy will be the center of our universe soon. I hope that he thinks the same way about his parents that I feel and have felt about mine: first, that we love him completely and put nothing else above him, later, that he realizes that we also love each other and that he was made out of that love, and much later, that he realizes when he leaves our home and starts out on his own, that we can still be great friends.

I am so thankful that I lucked out and have my mom and dad. They are two of my best friends. What parents give up to become “mom” and “dad” are identities that, I think, get to come out later, when the parenting part has changed to something less instructive and more supportive. On my way to becoming “mom,” I am giving up, a least for the next long while, being just “Danielle,” and though I don’t expect him to thank me for it, I know now how much I should thank you.

Happy Birthday, mom- and thank you, Annemarie.