Motherhood can be an incredible journey, but let’s be honest—it’s often a thankless endeavor. When else in life is it socially acceptable to be summoned merely for a diaper change, and yet receive no acknowledgment for your efforts? Just last week, I had to rush back home right after dropping off Mia at school to retrieve her soccer cleats, only to be met with irritation for forgetting her socks.
In my college days, when I handed my laundry over to the wash and fold service, I always made sure to express my gratitude upon receiving my neatly folded clothes. My kids, however, seem to believe that their laundry magically appears clean and perfectly arranged in their drawers overnight. If only!
Dinner time is often greeted with rolled eyes instead of gratitude, and don’t get me started on the panic that ensues if their favorite cereal isn’t in stock. And when I do manage to have it available, do I ever hear a simple “thank you”? Of course not.
Despite these challenges, I continue to care for my children—messy moments and all—because my love for them runs deep. But now and then, a heartfelt “thank you for everything you do, Mom” would really brighten my day.
That’s why, after becoming a mother, I came to cherish Thanksgiving as my favorite holiday. It’s a day dedicated to gratitude, a chance for me to reflect on my blessings and, hopefully, receive some appreciation in return. No forced Hallmark moments or messy breakfasts to clean up—just one day a year to be celebrated by my kids. Sounds perfect, right? Well, it rarely plays out that way.
A few years ago, I asked my children what they were thankful for, hoping to fish for some compliments. “Poop,” exclaimed Jake, with far too much enthusiasm. Poop? Alright, strike one. Thankfully, I’ve got three kids. “Eating ice cream,” chimed in Max. Ice cream? No dessert for you today, buddy. “Hmm…” Mia pondered. I held my breath. She was my new favorite, at least for the moment. “Daddy,” she finally said.
Daddy? Who was napping on the couch and hadn’t lifted a finger to help prepare the feast we were about to enjoy? DADDY? He didn’t carry you for nine months or deal with the stretch marks, yet here we are. And poop? And ice cream?! Who raised these kids, and is there a return policy on them?
“Well, that’s nice,” I managed to reply. “What about me?”
“Of course, Mom!” she said. Ah, so there I am—after Daddy, poop, and ice cream. That’s just motherhood in a nutshell.
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In summary, while motherhood is filled with love and joy, it often lacks the appreciation that it so richly deserves. A little gratitude from our children would go a long way, especially on holidays dedicated to thankfulness.
Keyphrase: The Unappreciated Reality of Motherhood
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