A new mother’s day
This Sunday is Mother’s Day. You may have forgotten if it wasn’t for every ad reminding you that their product is the perfect gift for Mother’s Day. For my wife this Sunday is her first Mother’s Day as a mother. As far as I know. And aside from raising a healthy well-adjusted daughter, the biggest job that I have as a new father is making sure that my wife’s first official Mother’s Day goes well.
I can’t rely on my daughter to do anything for Mother’s Day. To her Mother’s Day is just another Sunday. She will sleep and poop through it like it was a Tuesday.
My daughter is at least 5, maybe 10 years away from looking after Mother’s Day. This weekend there will be no badly burnt breakfast in bed or misshapen “I love you mom” ceramics. No, not even a single piece of jewelry made from uncooked elbow macaroni. No, this year Mother’s Day is entirely in my hands. No pressure.
I only have to celebrate the woman who brought our daughter into this world. The woman who carried our child for nine months. The woman who went through a labor that, well, lived up to the name labor. And the woman who will have to talk to our daughter when she’s older and has girl problems that daddy doesn’t want to hear about. What gift could encapsulate all of that and the fact that she’s loving and caring? It’s probably not a set of bath soaps.
For Mother’s Day there is only one tried and true solution –brunch. That egg-y meal nestled between breakfast and lunch, where it’s okay to have cake as long as it’s flat and covered in tree syrup. Ahh, brunch. Nothing like celebrating the fertilization of eggs with a meal devoted to them.
Happy Mother’s Day.