Mothering Sunday

The first Sunday in May this year found us gathered at my sister’s in Melbourne town – my siblings, our mum, our offspring, celebrating the crazy messy beauty that is this Mothering gig. Eleanor wasn’t seen all day, playing with big cousins, endless Peppa Pig figurines and in cousin Violet’s play kitchen (note: Blossom clearly needs a play kitchen). Mexican was devoured, big ships came into port through the dreary Autumn conditions and then more room was left in tummies for my Golden Gaytime cheesecake.

Super Grandi didn’t want any gifts or grand gestures for Mother’s Day, one simple request of all her children and all their children in the one place at the one time was more than enough for her. Simple pleasures are exactly what makes the Mothering world go around, isn’t it? Eleanor obviously has little idea about this Mother’s Day business yet, but last night tucking her into her cot, her little eyelids so heavy from no sleep all day, I told her I loved her more than she loves cheese (that’s a lot) and she nodded and waved ‘bye bye’ to Mummy until the morning. Then today reading the same story for the 872,936th time she pointed out a small child character and said ‘bayyybeee’, then to a bigger girl with blonde hair and patted her chest (she can’t say Eleanor, but indicates a lot that something is ‘her’). It was the first time she’s referred to ‘the baby’ without being prompted or with some reluctance or confusion. And my heart nearly burst out of my chest.

That’s enough of a Mother’s Day gift for me thank you very much.

Oh, Mothering…the highest of highs, the worry and the patience, the steep learning curves, the Earth shattering truths, the questioning, the tears and then the biggest of belly laughs every single day with a growing girl learning and growing and soaking up every little detail of this big world she’s discovering. What a bumpy road, one we’re about to travel down all over again, how on Earth will my heart hold two of these sweet little people in it?!

To all the Mothers – the ones who hold lots of little ones, or big ones, the ones who are hoping and praying, the ones who have lost and been lost, the experienced ones and the brand spanking new ones, happy Mothering Sunday. I hope it was spent either with big crazy love or quiet contemplation, whatever you needed to refill your cup.

Mine? It’s overflowing.