My MIL and Husband Said Mother’s Day Is Only for ‘Older’ Moms—My Family Proved Them Wrong
My MIL and Husband Said Mother’s Day Is Only for ‘Older’ Moms—My Family Proved Them Wrong
My husband laughed and my mother-in-law sneered when I politely proposed a brunch to commemorate my first Mother’s Day.
Saying, “It’s for real moms,” I texted quietly while stunned, not realizing it would lead to a confrontation they would never forget.
Mother’s Day was never my favorite day of the year, but here we are.
Lily, my ideal, plump-cheeked little daughter with my stubborn chin and her father’s black locks, had been born about a year ago.
Motherhood had been a whirlwind of restless nights, clothing smeared with milk, and a love so intense that it occasionally left me speechless.
Thus, I foolishly believed that I may receive a modest bit of appreciation as Mother’s Day drew near.
Donna, my mother-in-law, was over to talk about the Mother’s Day arrangements. I had Lily in her high chair in the adjacent kitchen, and she and my husband were sitting on the sofa in the living room.
“So for tomorrow,” my husband Ryan said as I was preparing Lily’s dinner, “I was thinking we could have lunch at your favorite Italian restaurant.” The Mother’s Day special meal you enjoyed last year is back.
Donna gave a nod. “Excellent. This time, I want the booth in the corner. That waitress positioned us by the kitchen last year.
I cleared my throat. I ventured, my heart pounding, “Perhaps we could have brunch instead? To keep Lily from being fussy, something earlier?” After a moment of hesitation, I continued, smiling hesitantly, “It’s my first Mother’s Day, after all.”
As if I had just proposed that we all go skydiving nude, Ryan turned to look at me over the top of the couch.
“Mother’s Day isn’t about you,” he stated.
He went on, “It’s for older mothers,” “Like my mother, you know. She has more than thirty years of experience as a mother. She deserved it.
I was stunned. Hadn’t I deserved a little recognition for the 20 hours of labor and the months of night feedings while Ryan slept peacefully next to me?
Donna laughed.
“Exactly!” she exclaimed. “Motherhood for thirty-two years. That’s what a true mother is. Don’t believe you’re a member of the club after pushing out one baby.”
The words struck the chest like a bucket of icy water.
I turned away slowly. Sensing the stress, Lily fussed and grabbed at my shirt with her little hands.
Donna wasn’t finished, though.
“You millennials think the world owes you a celebration for breathing,” she said.
Ryan, mute and without courage, nodded along.
I didn’t fight or yell. What was the purpose? All I did was turn and carry Lily upstairs to have a bath. Allow them to organize their priceless party. Allow Donna to enjoy Mother’s Day on her 30th birthday.
When Mother’s Day dawned the following morning, golden sunlight poured through the blinds. At five o’clock, Lily’s famished screams roused me from a restless slumber.
Unaffected, Ryan continued to snooze.
I carried her downstairs after changing her diaper and nursing her. There was no card on the counter. Not a single blossom. My spouse didn’t say “Happy Mother’s Day” in a whisper before he went back to sleep.
I busied myself preparing breakfast for Lily.
I tried to convince myself that I didn’t need a celebration because I was already a mother to this lovely girl.
My phone buzzed when I was mashing bananas.
My older brother Mark texted me, saying, “Happy first Mother’s Day, sis! With you, Lily hit the mother lottery.
Next was one from James, my other brother: “Happy Mother’s Day to the family’s newest mother! Uncle James, give that newborn daughter a squeeze.
The last message I received was from my dad: “I’m proud of the mother you’ve grown into, my love. Mom would be as well.
Tears filled my eyes.
This was the first Mother’s Day that I really grasped what Mom had given us and that she had been gone for five years due to cancer. What Lily was now receiving from me.
I replied back, my fingers shaking: “Happy Mother’s Day. I appreciate the texts. Today, I feel a little invisible.
I forwarded it to each of the three. I wanted them to hear my anguish and know how much I valued their messages. After all, that is the purpose of family.
I didn’t care that they didn’t text me back. My worries were more serious.
I somehow had to muster the strength to get through Donna’s Mother’s Day lunch reservation, which Ryan had scheduled at one.
Later that day, I sat rigidly at Donna’s favorite restaurant, where the air smelled like lemon zest and upscale arrogance, and the linen tablecloths were too white.
For the table, Ryan had ordered champagne. He toasted, “To celebrate Mom,” while Donna acted out the role.
“Don’t worry, dear.” She touched my hand as she reached over. “You’ll be pampered like this too one day. Simply put, you haven’t earned it yet.
“After all,” she went on, “taking care of one child for less than a year does not make you a true mother. For decades, I wiped asses. Compared to me, you’re still in diapers.”
I lacked the strength to even force a false smile. I simply turned to face Lily and gave her a quick shake of her tiny soft rattle.
However, I caught a glimpse of Ryan nodding in agreement.
The other customers in the restaurant began cheering and talking joyfully while I was struggling to control my melancholy.
“What in the world!” Her fork dropped from her hand and clattered on her plate as Donna gasped.
When I looked up and saw the folks approaching our table with gift bags and flowers stuffed in their arms, my heart stopped.
“Happy first Mother’s Day, little sis!” As they approached, Mark said loudly. My dad and James stepped next to him.
When they arrived to the table, Dad mumbled, “Sorry to crash,” but it seemed like he wasn’t sorry at all. “We wanted to surprise our girl.”
Mark was the first to come up and placed a bouquet in my arms. Baby’s breath, lilies, and roses—all so delicate and lovely.
My cheek was touched by the petals. Tears threatened once more as I breathed in their delicious aroma.
James was courteous but aloof as he gave Donna a little bunch of flowers. He responded, “Happy Mother’s Day to you too, Donna,” with a smile that stopped short of his eyes.
But the exquisite spa ticket, the gift bag, and the smooth chocolates he set on the table before me? All of those belonged to me.
“We’re taking you for a spa day next weekend,” my dad winked. “You’ve earned it.”
Ryan’s mouth was open as he gazed.
Donna’s expression wavered. She said in a brittle, tight voice: “Oh, well, isn’t this nice? I was unaware that this was the first time the mother had performed.
“Didn’t anyone celebrate your first Mother’s Day?” Dad scowled. “That seems rather cruel.”
Ryan became as flushed as the roses in my bouquet, and Donna’s mouth fell open.
Mark retrieved chairs from a nearby table. Would you mind if we joined? On our sister’s big day, we wanted to join her in celebrating.
As he continued to analyze this change in dynamics, Ryan gave a stupid nod.
“Besides,” Mark said, “you’ve had what? Donna, thirty-two Mother’s Days? Don’t you think it would be okay to mark my younger sister’s first?
“Even if we are in your favorite restaurant,” James remarked.
Donna grinned, but it was a false smile.
“Yes, well, three decades of motherhood is a notable achievement,” she replied coldly.
“Being a mother isn’t about how long you’ve had the title,” our dad said, his voice as hard as stone, as he locked eyes with her. It all comes down to being there for those in need.
Quiet.
Heavy, justifiable quiet.
Ryan gazed at me. Were his eyes filled with shame? I was unable to tell.
Quietly, he said, “I didn’t know your family was joining us,”
“Neither did I,” I replied honestly.
The tension was broken when the waiter came over. “More champagne for the table?”
“Yes,” my father stated emphatically. “We’re celebrating a very special first Mother’s Day.”
A odd dance of talk unfolded during lunch.
My brothers skillfully guided the conversation toward Lily, myself, and the pleasures and difficulties of being a new mother. As he recounted every aspect of how he had honored my mom’s first Mother’s Day, Dad met Ryan’s gaze.
Donna picked at her food.
I refrained from boasting. I didn’t have to.
During the lunch, I kept my bouquet close at hand. Occasionally, I would notice Ryan observing me with a contemplative expression on his face.
Ryan put his hand in mine and gave it a light squeeze as we walked out of the restaurant.
Though it was too late, he muttered, “Happy Mother’s Day,” nonetheless.
Donna walked alone behind us, her shoulders hunched a little. She looked her age for the first time.
Lily was napping on my dad’s shoulder as he walked beside me.
He said, “You’re doing great, kiddo,” “Mom would be so proud.”
I sensed the unbroken thread of motherhood connecting the past and the future at that very instant. Lily, my mother to me. Even Donna, with her thirty years of experience, couldn’t take that away.
It takes a lifetime to learn some lessons. Others show up in a single, flawless epiphany.
I am a mother. That was mine. Yes, it’s new. Always learning. Not any less worthy of celebration, though.
Due to the fact that parenthood is not a contest with victors and losers. It’s a trip that is both beautiful and heartbreaking, and completely transformative.
What about next year?
It would be different next year. I would ensure it.
