Sunday is Mother’s Day and for some reason odd reason, it feels like a really big deal this year despite the fact that this is the farthest I’ve ever been from dear Mummy in my whole life. It seems that I’ve been hearing a lot of motherhood lately. Their love, their fears, their goals, their courage, their celebrations and their darkest moments are all in the selfless midst of their commitment to take care of everyone else around them and consequently putting themselves in last place.
Even 2,429 miles from home (but who’s counting), my mom is the only one who truly knows how to deal with my shenanigans through and through. Although most of our conversations take place over the phone these days, I can hear the all too familiar traits of a mom by simply hearing her voice: Genuine excitement when something goes my way, concern when her maternal radars start beeping, frustration when I’m being a SassyMcSassMaster and care when she can tell that all I really want to do is curl up on the couch in the red blanket that I miss so much and snuggle.
Recently, I’ve been hearing a ton of great things about Tina Fey’s new book, Bossypants. I haven’t had a chance to read it yet, but today I stumbled upon an excerpt from the book called “A Mother’s Prayer” and it cracked me up and I thought you all would like it too.
“First, Lord: No tattoos. May neither Chinese symbol for truth nor Winnie-the-Pooh holding the FSU logo stain her tender haunches.
May she be Beautiful but not Damaged, for it’s the Damage that draws the creepy soccer coach’s eye, not the Beauty.
When the Crystal Meth is offered, May she remember the parents who cut her grapes in half And stick with Beer.
Guide her, protect her:
When crossing the street, stepping onto boats, swimming in the ocean, swimming in pools, walking near pools, standing on the subway platform, crossing 86th Street, stepping off of boats, using mall restrooms, getting on and off escalators, driving on country roads while arguing, leaning on large windows, walking in parking lots, riding Ferris wheels, roller-coasters, log flumes, or anything called “Hell Drop,” “Tower of Torture,” or “The Death Spiral Rock ‘N Zero G Roll featuring Aerosmith,” and standing on any kind of balcony ever, anywhere, at any age.
Lead her away from Acting but not all the way to Finance. Something where she can make her own hours but still feel intellectually fulfilled and get outside sometimes And not have to wear high heels.
What would that be, Lord? Architecture? Midwifery? Golf course design? I’m asking You, because if I knew, I’d be doing it, Youdammit.
May she play the Drums to the fiery rhythm of her Own Heart with the sinewy strength of her Own Arms, so she need Not Lie With Drummers.
Grant her a Rough Patch from twelve to seventeen. Let her draw horses and be interested in Barbies for much too long, For childhood is short – a Tiger Flower blooming Magenta for one day – And adulthood is long and dry-humping in cars will wait.
O Lord, break the Internet forever, That she may be spared the misspelled invective of her peers And the online marketing campaign for Rape Hostel V: Girls Just Wanna Get Stabbed.
And when she one day turns on me and calls me a Bitch in front of Hollister, Give me the strength, Lord, to yank her directly into a cab in front of her friends, For I will not have that Shit. I will not have it.
And should she choose to be a Mother one day, be my eyes, Lord, that I may see her, lying on a blanket on the floor at 4:50 A.M., all-at-once exhausted, bored, and in love with the little creature whose poop is leaking up its back.
“My mother did this for me once,” she will realize as she cleans feces off her baby’s neck. “My mother did this for me.” And the delayed gratitude will wash over her as it does each generation and she will make a Mental Note to call me. And she will forget. But I’ll know, because I peeped it with Your God eyes.”
Isn’t that great? Judging by that, I’m a pretty OK kid!
I’m off to go work on some sort of Mother’s Day post for little Lindy-poop. I don’t know how in the world I am going to top myself from last year. It made her cry. Great.