Below is a post from Mother's Day two years ago that highlights the everyday difficulties that my mother endured in the early years of caring for her children. Thanks to my mother for her dedication and to mothers everywhere for not throwing the towel in when times were tough.
Happy Mother's Day!
I come from hearty stock. Thank goodness, because raising babies in my family is not for the faint of heart. Just ask my mother.
She gave birth to my oldest
sister, Daughter Number One, as young woman one year after she married
my father. She said at that point she knew as much about taking care of a
baby as she did about being a plumber (not much). My sister did all of
the fun things babies do like cry a lot for no apparent reason and never
sleep. But soon my sister learned to talk. And talk. My mothered
yearned for quiet.
Two and a half years later,
Daughter Number Two was born. She followed in the footsteps of Number
One and cried a lot for no apparent reason and never slept. Then she
learned to walk. And run. And climb. And to never be afraid. She climbed
the banisters, moved the furniture, scared the neighbors, and had the
fire department rescue her from a drain. She didn't talk much, but that
didn't matter, because Number One talked enough for both of them.
Three years after Number Two, I
was born. I just didn't cry for no apparent reason, I cried ALL of the
time. I cried so much that I burst my tear ducts. I cried so much that
the neighbors took me with them when they delivered groceries. They
hoped to provide some relief for all involved. I consumed every minute
of my mother's time. Meanwhile, Number One talked and Number Two was
“busy.”
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| My mother was tired, but the kids were happy. |
Then the miracle
happened. Daughter Number Four was born four years after me. She only
cried when she needed something. She slept regularly. My mother was
afraid that something was wrong with her. She didn't understand this
kind of baby. Meanwhile, Number One talked, Number Two was busy, and I
cried easily, but we were manageable now—at least compared to before.
For a little while, my mother could breathe and just be very busy
raising four young girls. That was until my ailing grandmother moved in.
But that's another story.
My
husband has a theory that the number of kids in a family is equal to
the number of easy babies plus one difficult one. Thank goodness my
parents didn't subscribe to that formula or I wouldn't be here. I want
to thank my mother, on this Mother's Day, for not giving up when I'm
sure she wanted to and giving me a great start to life.
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