let's all hold hands and sing

So it's Mothers Day, see, and I'm just going to level with you right now and tell you exactly what kind of post this is going to be:

Mushy.

This is going to be a hold hands and sing, raise your goblet of motherhood, hug the person sitting next to you kind of post.

Just thought I should warn you. It might feel like you're sitting in the middle of a giant hot fudge sundae. And not everyone likes that. Now I'm hungry.

So. Mothers Day.

I'm not a mother.

Not in the traditional, push a human being out of your body kind of way, anyway. But maybe in some other ways, I am. Maybe Heavenly Father has given me an opportunity to rejoice in motherhood as a concept, as an institution, as a quality.

I don't think I can say that I've ever felt like a mother. I know what it is to be loved by a mother, and by a mother-in-law. And I've watched as my friends and family have become mothers.

It seems like there is this change, immediate and all-consuming, filled with fierce tenderness and overwhelming love and fear and joy and that is what I see in the face of my own mother, what I hear in the voices of my friends. A recognizing that there is a void, perhaps previously unknown, that is now filled.

And while I haven't experienced that yet, that feeling of responsibility for new life, I have experienced love. And I have been given newness, in the form of opportunities, both unexpected and sought out. And I've had to learn how to love those opportunities, how to develop and grow and become who I need to be right now. I think there's some mothering in that, in nurturing my present life.

I'm grateful for that, for learning to love my life, but I still want kids. It's kind of a biological thing, you know? I want to be sleep-deprived and to buy a stroller and to say things like "DON'T EAT THAT MARKER" and "YOU COULD POKE YOUR EYE OUT".

And I think Heavenly Father knew that about me, that I needed to be around kids,because I got asked to help out in nursery every Sunday and the other week as I heard myself say "PLEASE DON'T THROW THAT CHAIR" I smiled to myself and thought, maybe this is what it feels like to be a mother.

I think this is the part where I get mushy. It's just that I'm thinking of all you mothers who lend me your kids, who let me get hugs and read stories and say things like "PLEASE DON'T THROW THAT CHAIR". And I love you for that. There is this void in me, and it apparently can only be filled by tiny people. I need you.

And maybe you need me, too. Are you sleep deprived? Are you sick and tired of wiping and feeding and changing and bathing? Well, let me help. Being puked on is a novelty for me. Like a badge of honor. Don't feel bad for wishing for time away, for clean floors or extra sleep. I come to you, and you give me the mess, the chaos and sticky hands I need. And you, hopefully, can get some sleep.

Maybe you're not a mom, though. Maybe you're like me, waiting. Well, know what? If you ask me? You've got mothering qualities. Right now, you do. You have the ability to love, to bless, to serve and to nurture. I know those qualities or abilities might not erase the pain of wanting. Wanting hurts. But what I want you to know is that right now, at this moment, you are enough.

So, right now, I am not thinking about my future motherhood. I am thinking about the mother I am now. And it occurs to me that there must be something, something with the power to unite all current mothers and all potential mothers.

I think I know what it is.

Nutella.

See? Mushy. Now let's all hold hands and sing.