On Mother’s Day we remember that we all have one. Somebody had to carry us around, at an increasingly uncomfortable weight, for nine months and then go through the process of getting us into the outside world. It’s a feat of nature that never loses its fascination.
Normally a doctor is standing by to catch human babies at birth. Giraffe babies have to survive a drop of several feet to the hard ground, because their mothers give birth standing up. Kangaroo babies crawl into their mother’s pouch by themselves immediately after birth, and it’s like a half marathon to get there. Turtles come out of the sand and head for the water and never see who brought them into the world. Seahorse mothers let the father carry the pregnancy (all women in favor of this for us, give a “whoop!” right now).
And then there are human babies, who get caught in somebody’s hands and. . .well, are just there. We don’t do any amazing feats like crawl into a pouch or stand up after a great fall. Some babies are born in water if their mothers prefer that unique birthing method, but they don’t cross sandy beaches to get there; we lift them right out of the pool and swaddle them. Some babies’ first word is “daddy,” but not because dad was a seahorse and lost his six-pack during pregnancy.
It just seems that the wrong parent gets the credit at strange moments in our lives.
Mothers should have our thanks for just doing the nine month thing if nothing else. Sure they may be the best on earth or not so hot at parenting, but they did do the first step in motherhood. Here is a shout out to mothers. All of them.
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