What makes me a mom

Mother's Day is this weekend. My first Mother's Day as a mom!

Will Flybaby be a happy child all day and a good sleeper and napper? Will JP gaze at me and extol my virtues as a woman and mother? Will angels sing? Will I receive the elusive, perfect sapphire ring to commemorate Fly's September birthday that I’ve been searching eight months for?

I doubt it.

But that's OK.

Because I'm a mom, and moms are used to going without. We are used to not getting what we wish for. Moms may even expect nothing good at all will happen, just so they can be pleasantly surprised when something good does happen. ("He didn't spit up all day!") We are unselfish. It's part of what makes someone a mom.

The Parent Bloggers Network and Light Iris are doing a "Blog Blast," asking What Makes You a Mother?

Well, duh. Flybaby. He's my son. He makes me a mother.

But of course, I know it's not that simple. Did you ever see those T-shirts that read, "Anyone can be a mother, but it takes someone special to be a mom"?

I think it's the mom part that PBN is really asking about.

In Flybaby's early days -- you know, when newborns wake up every two hours -- I actually wished someone would be there to take care of him and just wake me up so I could nurse him.

I reminded myself that's not a mom. That's a wet nurse.

I was exhausted from entertaining constant visitors and still trying to do everything I did before Fly. I started resenting Flybaby for not sleeping because I wasn't sleeping, either. If not for the little hooded towels embroidered "loveable" and "thank heaven for little boys," I feel I really might have forgotten he was indeed loveable and heaven sent.

But once the postpartum hormones lifted and I got sort of used to the sleep deprivation -- oh, and once I lowered my standards for what housecleaning and personal projects I can accomplish -- it kicked in just how amazing it is to develop a tiny human and to nourish and nurture him.

I'm a mom!

In those early days, I also actually resented people for admiring my baby. I thought, Hey, I’m doing all the work, so you shouldn’t get to reap the benefits of ogling this beautiful boy. Twisted, I know, but we’re still talking postpartum here.

I told myself, that’s not a mom. That’s a freak.

I’ve moved on from being overprotective -- not a mom, but a Secret Service agent -- but I’ve had to be a medical detective to try to figure out it was acid reflux that was plaguing Flybaby. Lately, I feel like his camp counselor, personal chef, personal trainer and court jester.

And most days, yes, I feel like his mom. And lucky to be.

As Flybaby grows, he will need me less and less -- and more and more at the same time. What I mean is my role for him will change. He will need less from me physically and more from me intellectually and emotionally. And financially!

Every once in a while, Flybaby and I look at each other, and I know we’re making a connection. When that happens, I feel we understand each other. I feel he gets who I am, in all the ways I manifest myself to him. And I try to impart to him how much I love him and the lengths I will go to for him.

Because I’m his mom.