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Mother’s Day is every day I guess

By By Leada Gore, Editor
Tucked away in a side pocket on the door of my car is a pink card. It has a sweet baby’s face on the front and some meaningful lines inside about the joys of being a mother. Greg bought me the card last year and signed it “Daddy, Sutton and Spike,” covering himself, our indulged and slightly neurotic dog and our much-anticipated baby girl. I keep this card close to me because it marked the first real time anyone addressed me as “Mom.”
Two months after I received this card, Sutton was born into the world. And while she’s just as beautiful as the pretty baby on the front of that pink card, it doesn’t convey the bundle of energy she has become. The card is serene and calm; she is not.
I brought this subject up to my own mother last weekend. My mom was staying with Sutton so Greg and I could attend a party for a friend’s teenage daughter. I had warned her about Sutton’s speed and agility, and worried that she might be too much for mom to handle.
My mom never broke a sweat. She raised three children. She cannot be overtaken by one granddaughter, no matter how active she is.
And that’s what I’m still learning. Before Sutton was born, I imagined tender scenes of me rocking her at night, reading a bedtime story as she drifted serenely off to sleep. I did not envision her wiggling out of her pajamas and my lap, only to crawl half-naked across the room to try and unplug her nightlight.
I knew toddlers were active, something I thought would kick in around two or three. I was not prepared for the accelerated pace of Sutton, who decided at eight months that her life’s ambition is to both reach the dog’s dish and eat his food.
I knew, too, that our lives would change once she was born. Gone were the sleep-in Saturdays, the late-evening dinners out and the leisurely strolls through the mall. They’ve been replaced by a nine-month old’s head on your shoulder as she finally drifts off and you find it simpler to just sleep in the chair and sandwiches for the adults while you wipe sweet potatoes off the walls. And the mall? Hah!
In the end, of course, it’s all worth it. We’ve traded a clean and neat house for one that looks like a tornado went through it; we’ve given up peace and calm for loud, girly squeals of delight.
Things haven’t turned out like I thought. They’ve turned out much, much better. And that’s something you can’t capture on any Mother’s Day card.

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