Coming up to my (barely scratching the surface) second year as a mum, for Mother’s Day, Nulla Nanna baby sat the twinlets while Hubby and I escaped our uniform of drabby tracksuit pants and sloppy joes and actually got dressed up to head out to the city for a special Mother’s Day matinee of “Jersey Boys”.
This was a far cry from last year’s Mother’s Day. I remember it well.
I was bowled over in nipple thrush pain. Lying in bed, disillusioned from sleep deprivation, I was battling conflicting emotions.
On the day dedicated for mothers, a day that was supposed to be especially memorable because it was my first, I actually didn’t feel any joy about being a mother. And I felt guilty for having these thoughts.
The boys were barely three months. Motherhood thus far had been overwhelming and daunting.
On that particular Sunday, I just needed some peace. I wanted some relief from the constant pain in my right breast. I was desperate for some quiet. To appease and to avoid the wrath, Hubby took the boys out for a long walk.
So, this year, I was pain-free and far more lucid in my sentiments.
Which in turn, helped me realise that my own rocky road in parenting has made me further appreciate my own mum.
On our drive to the city, I called her. Within the nano second I heard her voice, I teared up as I wished her a Happy Mother’s Day.
The current status of the relationship with my mother is bittersweet.
There were many, many tumultuous years of trying to live up to her expectations. Then, early in adulthood while living overseas, I kept myself at a safe distance from the pressure. As such, I ended up continuously clashing with her uptight, conservative Asian views on marriage, family and having children.
She always wanted to know what was the hold up. I kept telling her to mind her own business.
Suffice to say, now that I am married with children, we have somewhat reached an equilibrium.
Yes, there are still moments when she pushes my short-fuse button. But ultimately, she is a devoted and doting grandma to my boys.
So, for the part that’s bittersweet ? It does break my heart to see that it’s taken me all of my rebellious teenage years and most of my young, stubborn adult life to truly understand and respect her. As much as I think she made it tough for me as her only daughter, indeed I’m sure I have sent her around the proverbial twist.
With my mum welcoming her 80’s in the next couple of years, it’s always in the back of my mind how I wish we could have mended things a lot sooner.
But then I think, my life has to run its own, perhaps unconventional course for me to eventually be grateful for those who have always been there.
Don’t they say it’s not the destination, but the journey that counts ?