There are days when I question my capabilities as a mom. Did I get it right when I was raising my four children? Even once? Like the late humorist Erma Bombeck said, “Who knows? I showed up.”

What, exactly, are the roles of a mother? Some of them are repeated so often that we can recite them like the Pledge of Allegiance: feed, clothe, nurture, and nag. But there are others less easily recognized. For instance, I am absolutely the only person on the planet who can, when my grown son asks, definitively state the hour of his birth. Mothers can do this. Fathers, on the other hand, seldom remember. That could be because they weren’t the ones doing all of the pushing.

We moms are the ones who wreck our bodies, wear out our vocal chords, and ruin our vehicles for the sole benefit of offspring who will not give any of our selfless acts a second thought until they, themselves, become parents. It’s rewarding to observe those rebellious young-ones-turned-adults revisiting upon their children some of the very acts–using spit to perform emergency facial cleanings, squeezing someone else’s zit–they previously found so repulsive. These are among a mother’s sacrificial duties.

We feed our children potted meats and Spam, and are kind enough never to tell them what ingredients these foods contain. And we spare our little ones the truth about the link between Easter pets and chicken nuggets.

Mothers have a keen sense of smell combined with superior reasoning skills. God gave us these abilities for a purpose. We’re the first to know when it’s time to change a diaper and yet cunning enough to convince Dad to do the job.

As family historians, we’re the keepers of our kiddos’ nightmares, proof of their dependent origins, and preservationists of all that our progeny would just as soon forget. We are the repository of prime information, such as developmental milestones, pathetic prom dates, and imperfect driving records.

We hang onto old photos depicting mullet hairstyles, dresses with football uniform-like shoulder pads, and Sally Jessie-Raphael-inspired eye wear, knowing fully well that one day these pictures will entertain our children’s future spouses. None of this is malicious. It’s just our way of making sure we don’t raise narcissists.

How do we ever know if we’ve done all that’s been expected of us as mothers? We do the best we can. Then if one day we observe one of our offspring taking a tongue-moistened finger to his or her child’s face, it’s a positive sign.

Excerpted from the book Deedee Divine’s Totally Skewed Guide to Life (Corncob Press)

Author: Diana Estill
Article Source: EzineArticles.com
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