Saturday Morning At 8:58am

Being a mom is such a funny job. One minute you feel love as strong as life. The next minute you are annoyed that yet again the Izze soda bottle is sitting on the coffee table in the morning. One day, like Laura from A piece of cake, you are watching your children in the waves and California sun, fearing sharks and feeling your heart swell. One day, like – apparently – many mothers, your emails are a source of Internet memeing and chortling. Postcards From Yo Mama is what I’m thinking about. Yes. Two women set up a site where people submit emails or IM conversations from their mothers. Sort of like Post Secret. Or F*** My Life. Only it’s mom-talk.

I confess. I can barely read most mommy-bloggers. Gets my adrenaline going too hard, too fast. Everything comes back. But I can look at other people’s cute children in the water and feel the echo of their mother’s love. And I can read mother communiques, recognizing the wandering and blithering that we do when we talk to our grown children. I recognize that we are so foolish because we love them more than we know what to do with. It’s OK. I am not even embarrassed. A long time ago I wrote two pregnant friends a letter. I was so wise, me and my one year old. I said, “You can only be as good a mother as you are a person.” I still believe that. But, like most absolute statements, the range of meaning has widened as I’ve grown older. Now I think that if you aren’t embarrassed to be the person you are, you just can’t be embarrassed to be the mother you are. Even when your kids make fun of you on the Internet. Maybe especially then.