Other Mothers

I've experienced Mother's Days before, and at this point I've had 2 as an actual mother (though one was just in utero and we were jumping the gun) so there is experience here with the holiday. I've given many gifts to my Mom in my life, including --and almost exclusively limited during my childhood/teenagedom to-- a plethora of African Violets because one year my poor Mom made the mistake of saying how much she loved them. Some of them survive to this day, and in my head when I see them, they are HER flowers.
For some reason, though, this Mother's Day feels very different. And I think I might know why.
Prior to now, there had been, in my head, only one kind of mother - the one that watched over me, gave me life, nagged me to brush my teeth and made me sit at the table until I had eaten that squash, darnit, because it was good for me. Even when I became one, there was a disconnect... I had this blond, squalling thing in my arms that nursed and needed diapers changed, but... well, I was certainly not the mother that my mother was. I was me. Silly, clueless, fumbling me. Who had a child that seemed to be okay with that, so we got along swimmingly.
I have a nickname, used jokingly by my spouse when I go crazy and grow All The Plants (and trust me, I do). During these times when I'm wrist-deep in potting soil with an enormous grin on my face he calls me "Earthmother". Earlier Saturday I was in the midst of repotting 4 small lemon trees I'd gotten to sprout from an organic lemon, 2 small apple trees, and tending to a 1.5 foot tall avocado I had sprouted similarly. I was transfering the houseplants to bigger pots, settling a ginger in for its life as an indoor provider of zippy flavor for our family, and moving a potato vine outside for the first time, excitedly noting it had two veeeerrrrry tiny tubers growing on it already. I had already gone about decking our front porch out in sedums and flowers and the hem of my dress was peppered with vermiculite, when my husband came downstairs, grinned and said "It's the Earthmother!"
And I realized that I was blissfully happy, content, and genuinely felt caring and responsibility for these green things I was tucking in to their new homes. I was, in fact, mothering them.
It was also at that moment that I realized my now 18-month-old daughter made me truly feel like a mother, as well. When she is upset, she runs to me. When she sees me first thing in the morning, she holds her arms up for me to lift and hug her. She giggles and plays with me, and if I step outside and close a door between us, the world has ended and she cries until I return. I'm her mother, and she wants me to be one. That wasn't truly in place this time last year. We were still in the survival and need fulfillment aspect of care-giving at that time.
Add to that the pets we currently have... when they're hungry, I'm the one they seek out. I'm the one they flounder on for attention, and when they're scared. So I'm also an animal mommy.
The more I thought on it, the more my old idea of what "Mother" is broke down. Because I felt like a mother to all of these things. I felt strong. I felt confident, even competent, and protector and caregiver to all of these things. Mother wasn't an external thing that I observed any longer, it was me. And it meant different things at different times, changeable and malleable as I was called upon and chose to respond.
So while I settled in to lodging another lemon seedling firmly in its new pot, the expansive nature of the job title and the Sisterhood I had finally allowed myself to join became very clear to me. And it was awesome, in the true dictionary sense of the word. Having only ever been a part of a group experience like this courtesy of a gaming convention, and this being by degrees more vast and historic, my thoughts actually quieted to a dull hum. I pressed the earth down. I watered. I covered the delicate stem and new leaves with a clear plastic cup, taping it in to place to protect it from chewing cats, then moved it back in to its sunny spot on the plant rack. There was nothing in that quiet space but caring for those plants as the dog slept contentedly 5 feet away and my daughter napped upstairs, happy and secure.
There is MOTHER. The one that apparently needs roses and diamonds and brunch and stuffed animals and the perfect celebratory card and occasionally 23 new African violets, if you will believe the ad campaigns. But there is also Mom. Mommy. Mama. Earthmother. Critter Momma. Doggie Mommie. And a host of other names that describe anyone who cares, nourishes and protects something, whether they have two X chromosomes or not. It feels a little silly to have taken this long to see it, but now that I am here and in this space, it feels right, and it feels welcoming. I guess I'm home.

Happy Mothers Day to every type of Mom out there.