You swing your legs over the side of the bed, sitting up, hands on knees, your head aimed down like youre tired but you look up at me and smile. You shrug and push off, ambling towards the door.
Its barely daylight.
"Momma, its early and theyre still asleep. Its gonna be a busy day today, you dont get that rest."
We've made it to the kitchen where the first rays are crossing the living room through the balcony curtains to streak the cabinets and counter tops cleaned just last night. You've reached the coffee maker, filled up the pot and start counting the scoops of grounds.
"Didnt you hear me Momma?"
Pressing the start button, you nod.
To you, its like I didnt say a word and I didnt just cancel your day.
But I see you Momma.
I see you measuring ingredients and setting out plates just enough so that little hands that want to help can mix and pour all by them selves. I see you acting surprised when they run into the kitchen with eagerness to make you sweet cakes, eggies and toast for your Mother's Day. Giggling because they get to treat momma to breakfast.
"She'll be so happy!"
I see you cleaning up the mess, Momma. I see you doing the dishes.
I see your lap crowded with paper flowers you taught them to make, cards you gave them petty cash for, their inscriptions spelled out by you when they ask: "Momma, how do I spell Happy? One P or two?"
Yet still you smile wide as you read the proclamations of love outloud and shower each one with kisses.
I see you dressing those babies up so beautifully Momma. A brush barely through your hair but the little ones are prancing about in their best.
"Dont I look pretty for you now Momma?" they ask
"You always do."
I see you take them to the park Momma. I see you pushing them on the swing.
"5 more minutes Momma!"
I see you watching them each. Not sitting. Not reading. Not relaxing one bit.
The day is full of activity and the world seems to be out to celebrate their matriarchs; their mothers and grandmothers and aunts. They tote bouquets of lilies and chrysanthymums, tulips and roses. There are ballons and chocolates. New purses and certificates for massages. There are fathers to hold babies and give Momma a rest.
And I see you wiping dirty faces, holding discarded jackets and napkins.
I've seen you running to the school on your lunch because shes forgotten an instrument. Swearing that you ought to teach her a lesson in responsibility by not taking it, and yet you kiss her head before you go and never tell her so.
I see you, sick as a dog, but saving your sick days for those mornings when a Little doesn't feel well. For a field trip needing a chaperone. A teacher parent conference. A play. A day that would be more miserable missed at work while healthy than at that same desk feeling like death.
I see the other mommas, more troubles than shoulders can hold but never too heavy laden to love their child. To stay up late for them, to go an extra mile.
I see the Mommas that are Daddies too.
Momma, there's no rest for you nor any that you'd take.
I see you momma, this is a Mother's Day.
