A mother's day

12:45 a.m. – Happy Mother’s Day. Miss Dub has something very important to show you, which requires her to cry at full volume just in case you were considering ignoring her. (You were.) When you arrive cribside, she shows you her latest trick – waving hello. A trick you’ve seen 631 times already. It’s kinda cute, but not 12:45 a.m. cute. “Motherhood,” you think to yourself. “It’s worth it, right?”

3:20 a.m. – Miss Dub is screeching again. This time she is half-asleep but sobbing about some unknown issue. You run down the possible culprits: wet diaper, too hot, too cold, scared, sick, teething, hungry. You settle for hungry although you’re not entirely convinced. Most of the time you file her problems under “unknown,” because you can never really be sure what’s bothering a baby unless yours come talking out of the womb. Miss Dub did not, although she certainly tries. Very loudly.

5 a.m. – Happy Mother’s Day. Miss Dub has decided to be awake for the day. She greets you with more waving. It’s cute, but not 5 a.m. cute.

7:10 a.m. – Despite insisting she is not tired, Miss Dub has been rubbing her eyes and yanking her ears for two straight hours – in between waves, of course. Each toy becomes annoying after 3.5 seconds. Food is nothing more than a medium for her highchair artwork. You realize that if there was a job opening for a mother, juggling would be a required skill. Also, lifting heavy objects, multitasking, singing silly songs and handling poo. Lots and lots of poo. All for $0 an hour. Sounds like a dream position, right? Don’t answer.

8 a.m. – After extensive attempts to convince Miss Dub her crib is not full of hot lava, you break down and nurse her to sleep. You try to forget the Baby Whisperer’s haunting words for such behavior: “accidental parenting.” Otherwise known as bad habits created in moments of mommy desperation. You then realize that you have a half hour to get ready for church, where you will spend all but 10 minutes of the three-hour event in the hall convincing Miss Dub that Sunday School is not full of hot lava. In another moment of mommy desperation, you decide to stay home. Happy Mother's Day.

8:50 a.m. – Miss Dub is up from her nap. She’s waving, again. It’s cute, but …

9 a.m. to 4 p.m. – Stuff happens. It’s a blur of typical daily activities – exersaucer, looking in the mirror, playing outside, crying, napping, not napping. It’s an exhausting routine most days. On four hours of sleep, it feels arduous. “Motherhood,” you think to yourself. “It’s worth it, right?”

4:30 p.m. – You and Mr. Dub get serious about kabobs for a small Mother’s Day shindig you’re hosting in a half hour. Chicken, mushroom, pepper, onion, chicken – wait, did you forget to put on some pineapple? Miss Dub patiently plays with her toys. For five minutes. You are then beckoned to her side, chicken marinade dripping off your hands. You manage to pick her up, wash your hands and finish dinner preparations without spreading salmonella. You try to remember what life was like with two hands. It hurts your brain to think that far back.

6 p.m. – Happy Mother's Day. You eat your kabob with Miss Dub strapped in the baby carrier. It’s a precarious situation, and Miss Dub may or may not have eaten some chicken. (It was a lovely marinade, by the way.)

7 p.m. – You try to put a cranky Miss Dub to bed amidst the shindigging. No luck.

7:20 p.m. – You and a guest restrain Miss Dub in order to apply some baby Orajel. This does not make Miss Dub happy. A personal visit from Baby Einstein himself would not make Miss Dub happy right now.

7:40 p.m. – After some finagling and other behavior that cannot be disclosed for fear of jinxing yourself, you manage to get Miss Dub to fall asleep. You return to your guests, who are now getting ready to leave. You didn’t get a chance to tell Ann how kind she is. You forgot to tell Rachel that you’re so glad you’re friends, even though you don’t see each other very often. You forgot to offer Ryan some leftovers. You forgot to give the moms handmade bookmarks with this quote: “A mother is a person who seeing there are only four pieces of pie for five people, promptly announces she never did care for pie.”

8 p.m. – You and Mr. Dub settle down for some quality time. He reads, you read and think and formulate next week’s menu in your head. You make plans to get Miss Dub unteethed and back on schedule. You wonder why you haven’t figured out this motherhood thing yet. You feel very unworthy of the generous gifts Mr. Dub gave you on a holiday celebrating your official momness.

10 p.m. – Happy Mother's Day. In the middle of a great conversation, Miss Dub interrupts you to announce she’d like to show you a new trick. She’s waving, again. It’s cute. It really is cute. You wonder how many 6-month-olds can wave and say, “Ha-iiii!” You take her out of her crib and rock her for a bit. You tell your inner Baby Whisperer to stick it. You smell her delicious babyness. You stroke her whispy hair. You feel her body relax and drift off to sleep in the nook of your neck. It feels like home.

“Motherhood,” you think to yourself. “It’s worth it.”