A New Meaning to Mother’s Day

32 years ago, I came home from the hospital with my mom on Mother’s Day.

The only reminder I have of that day is a handmade Mother’s Day plate that was dated 1983, which one of my sisters made for my Mom.  Each time I saw it, I pictured myself as a shriveled-face baby coming home for the first time.

Other than this memory, all of my Mother’s Days have been spent celebrating the moms in my life, usually with flowers and brunch.

But this year, it means something very different to me.  This year, I’ll be able to celebrate my wife and all of the work she’s done to make our kids the happiest babies I’ve ever seen.

Her personality has been duplicated in the form of two nine month old babies, and I wouldn’t want it any other way.  She spends every waking (and sleeping) second with them.  She talks to them all day, engages them with hundreds of toys, silly faces and silly songs, and has somehow created a busy routine for themselves to follow each day.

She’s sacrificed so much of herself for all of us, but she loves every second of it.

Being a parent in our house is an exhausting job, but she makes it look easy.  And she looks good while doing it.

There is no way to explain how great she is, and there is no way that I could ever thank her enough, but I’m going to try today!

Happy Mother’s Day, Meggie.