a different kind of mother's day

Dear Sophia and Eli,

Mother's Day 2020

This Mother's Day is like no other.  Not only because we are in the midst of a pandemic, but because I have been fighting physically -- in a good way -- to ensure I can be there for you in the future.  It has, quite literally, been the fight of my life, and some days I am wracked with guilt that I can't be the mommy to you that I want to be.  There are days that my body is aching pretty much everywhere, and my fingers are so numb that I'm struggling to wash bottles and braid hair, and my knees feel like they are going to buckle -- and on those days I'm terrified of holding you, Eli, and can see the understanding dawn in your eyes, Soph, when I'm drained of energy and can't play with you on the floor (because I can't make it comfortably on to the floor, and if I do, there's no chance of me getting back up).  It hurts, and not just physically.  I so wish things could be different, and that there weren't days that either of you would see and feel me crying, or pulling back and being sensitive about how much hair I've lost, but I tell myself to keep moving because of you.

Sophia, this is our fifth Mother's Day together, and since the day you made me a mom you've kept me on my toes -- driven me, challenged me, given me a lesson or three.  You've taught me about compassion and kindness and grace.  You've grown into a loving, bright, and beautiful little lady and made me so proud of how you take care of our family and share and use "big" words and hold your own in a room full of boys.  I love how you still call me "momma," and climb into bed with me at 3 AM and reach for my hand, that you ask me to lay with you to chat about the day, and how you run back to me with open arms in the mornings for a "huggie."  I love that you always think of Lily and Lucas, and pick flowers for their graves and for me, too, every day.  I love that you comfort me when I'm down and tell me things are going to be okay, that you ask which side of my body hurts so you'll avoid it, that you are incredibly patient and understanding when I'm slower than normal.  Thank you for giving me a pass when I need it and showing me love.  Don't ever change, sweetheart.

Eli, on this first Mother's Day with you we've already been through so much, haven't we?  You are my strong boy, going through chemo with me, helping me overcome fear and finding a way to persevere.  Each day, I look at your perfect face and fingers and toes and thank God that we made it through.  From day one, you have been the sweetest little man.  I love your creaky noises and that you like to gnaw on my face, or that you can find that spot on my chest to snuggle in for a warm nap.  I love when you look at me and smile, or stick your tongue out after I do, or pretend that you're not interested in eating but in the next second you're insatiable.  I love how similar you look to your sister but how different you are as babies.  I love that despite what I'm going through, you've given me another perspective on motherhood, another chance to enjoy this round of firsts again.  I'm thankful for this time we have together in our tiny bubble when the world was changing around us.

Remember this Mother's Day.  Remember it because it was different, and hard, and pivotal.  Remember it because it forced us to change, and pause, and see it from another angle.  And remember that this Mother's Day, and every Mother's Day, I am blessed beyond words to be your momma, and will always fight to be there for you as long as I am able.

Love,
Mommy