Mom Genes

A few days after my first Mother’s Day, my middle brother sent me a card apologizing for the delayed greeting and telling me he had “completely overlooked the fact” that I was a mother now. It was weird for me, too. Mother’s Day is when you call your mom, write your grandma, and watch all the mothers get a flower at church. Since I was on my own with this month-old baby, I might have passed the day without marking my mother status had it not been for my oldest younger brother. At some point in the night, he snuck in and placed a card from “the baby” in her crib for me to find in the morning. It was an unexpected surprise, but also a singular moment realizing that for the rest of always I would be someone for whom Mother’s Day is applicable. Which was really good, if surreal, news. I had wanted to be a mother my whole life, ever since I could remember. I had baby dolls of all types and sizes who needed my constant care. I even chose to be a teacher because it seemed the most mom-friendly job you could have (which has proven true more often than not, so score on that one). All of these things add up to one very good reason to read P.D. Eastman’s Are You My Mother? to my little Scarlett. And to get dressed up that first Mother’s Day so I could go get my flower.

http://www.amazon.com/Are-You-Mother-P-D-Eastman/dp/0394800184

http://book.consumerhelpweb.com/authors/eastman/eastman.htm