Last Tuesday, Daniel turned 13. He's officially a teenager now. We had a bunch of his friends over for a sleepover this weekend, and aside from them shattering our basement bathroom glass shower door into tiny pieces, everyone had a fun time (no injury, thank God, but yeah, it freaked out the kid who did it, whose official excuse was "We were playing hide and seek, I just went in there to hide and It just broke on me!". Yeahhhh.)
Mother's Day has always been a bit weird for me, particularly over the past few years. I was going to post something yesterday on FB, but got overwhelmed by all the posts either rejoicing in Mother's day or dealing with the pain with Mother's day. I'm a mom of one son, and have had several miscarriages, the last one back in December 2014. So I've been dealing with the pain of that for a while.
But I am still a mom. Because as a mother of an only, I sometimes feel like I don't fit in the whole motherhood thing. We don't have the chaos that larger families have (broken shower door aside); our kid for the most part is relatively easy to maintain, and he's getting to the point where he doesn't require so much hand-holding. But I am still a mother--just in a different time of life. And 13 years ago, Daniel was indeed born on Mother's Day, which was a sweet surprise.
So yesterday, I let the hubby and boy pamper me, which meant they made me breakfast (hasbrowns, omelettes) and dinner. We listened to Phil Keaggy and Sunday's Child, because that was the CD I was playing on repeat during labor (and yes, funny twist, Daniel was indeed born on a Sunday). We went to the Arboretum, where I finally got to level 5 on Pokemon Go. Then we went home and watched Wolf Children, which a gorgeous, heartbreaking anime movie about motherhood. Oh, and I called my mom and grandma to wish them Happy Mother's day.
All in all, pretty chill day. We'll get to sweeping up the shower door glass at some point, I guess, but it's been super nice out.