Happy Mothers' Day!

I'm responding to an article on Salon.com and its associated comments.

Why I hate Mother's Day by Anne Lamott

Ms. Lamott is an amazing writer who succeeds at her job because her words inspire reflection and consideration. In this article, she explains how not all mothers are created equal, how commercially artificial the holiday has become, and how powerful, childless women are degraded by all Mother's Day hype. And finally, Ms. Lamott explains how this most ordinary, primal role of humanity has been one of the most rewarding and transformative ones of her life.

Hmmmm... I encourage you to read the article for yourselves in case I have summarized incompletely. My description seems to leave several holes, and I'm not sure whether they exist naturally in the rant-called-social-commentary or whether I need to brush up on my reading comprehension skills.

My initial reaction as a woman and a feminist is, right on! The subtitle is brilliant: It celebrates the great lie about women: That those with children are more important than those without. All women are born with the same capability for greatness and for impacting this world positively. Mothers simply have a more constant and accessible link to the next generation. The article, however, goes on to dissect the celebration of motherhood as a mindless tradition carried out by people whose own mothers did not teach them well enough to think critically.

Posh!

Because I want to spare space in this post and because I want to maintain focus, I will summarize some applicable history...

First, I had a strained relationship with my mother and often thought I would have been better off had I been raised by wolves.

Second, I struggled with fertility and the fear that I would never have children, even though I desperately wanted them.

Third, I have enjoyed the opportunity to share my life with my two biological children. With the birth of my first child came postpartum depression that threatened my marriage and my livelihood, though luckily not my child's nor my own safety.

My ideas of a romanticized motherhood were pretty much shot within the first hour of my life. I never imagined, nor have I experienced a Madonna-like channeling of maternal emotions that make me feel super human. When other mothers claim to bask in the light of the next god-child, I feel sick. But I never say so. No, that would be rude.

It would be rude for another woman, childless or not, to disparage my relationship with my own children and my concept of myself. It would be crass for a person, uterine-challenged or not, to criticize my level of interaction with my offspring or my progenitors. It would be downright mean for an author, published or not, to assert that a holiday intended to honor and celebrate all that is good in motherhood be criticized because all that is motherhood is not good.

In short, we do not diminish one person's worth by celebrating the life of another.

So your mom was not June Cleaver? Don't tell me that I can't be happy about my mother.

So you can't have kids? Don't equate my experience to having a bowel movement.

So you don't like commercialism? Don't imply that gifts trivialize my existence.

There is much to celebrate in the world today. In the hearts of women, mothers and childless, young and old, single and married, conventional and cooky, there is unfathomable compassion and patience. Perhaps a greater message would be that on this day and all days, we should give thanks to the people in our lives who have played a maternal role. If we have the joy and privilege of mothering another human being, we should expect and bask in the appreciation we receive, and regardless of our role, we should always be at the ready to lighten the load of another.

Happy Mothers' Day. Yes it was, yes it was, yes it was.