Mom’s Day: Payment
for those special deliveries

Robyn’s Hood
By Robyn McCloskey

Contrary to popular belief, Mother’s Day was not dreamed up by some untapped yet brilliant junior-director-of-marketing at Hallmark.
Rather, according to Wikipedia, it began with those prolific yet paranoid Greeks. Desiring a way to honor their "mother of all gods," Rhea, they instituted the holiday we have all come to know and love as Mother’s Day.
But those Romans, always primed to "one-up" the Greeks, began their tradition of honoring mommies everywhere after someone named Hilaria. Which I find totally appropriate since, oftentimes, motherhood — when we are not crying — can be downright hilarious.
In an interesting plot development, those same wacky Romans decided to celebrate on March 15. One can’t help but wonder whose idea that was. I can just hear the friends, Romans and countrymen: "Yo Julius, beware the Ides of March, be on the lookout for best friends wielding sharp implements . . . oh, and be sure to tell your ma we said Happy Mother’s Day!"
Let’s see Hallmark come up with a Shoebox greeting for that.
In America we can credit Julia Ward Howe, not only for penning the words to The Battle Hymn of the Republic but also for carrying on the tradition of Rhea and Hilaria. She suggested we dedicate the day to peace, which is ironic since peace is something we moms rarely get to experience.
Not to be outdone, it was Philadelphia’s own Ana Jarvis who furthered Ms. Howe’s cause. She petitioned for the festivities to be held on the second Sunday of May, which just so happened to be the anniversary of her mother’s death.
Which begs the question: Why did Ms. Jarvis want to celebrate on the anniversary of her mother’s demise rather than her birth? Maybe there is more to this story than Ana would have us believe. Sadly, poor Ms. Jarvis ended up dying alone in a sanatorium, so I guess we’ll never know.
Nevertheless, we moms now have a day dedicated entirely to us. We make brunch reservations weeks in advance, we receive potted plants purchased at the corner gas station, and we spend the day surrounded by those we have birthed.
After having experienced childbirth myself three times, I’d have to say that I think we deserve way more than just one day of celebrating. Childbirth is scary, painful and disgustingly messy, as, at times, is motherhood. Like most moms, I too have my pregnancy/labor/delivery horror stories.
My first bout with pregnancy ended in an emergency C-section. My second bout with pregnancy ended in an emergency C-section. My third bout with pregnancy was thankfully different — that ended in a scheduled C-section.
The first time I gave birth was in the late ’80s, although for reasons unbeknownst to me, I believe my O.B. thought it was still the ’70s. He had the blow-dried hair, the Burt Reynolds mustache and the dark blue tight designer jeans. His shirt was buttoned way too low, with Austin Powers chest hair poking through, and he sported an obscene amount of "Mr. T." bling. He doused himself with so much of Ralph Lauren’s Polo that it was enough to make me gag every time I had to visit during my first trimester, when the olfactory was in overdrive.
Anyhow there I was, my first time in labor and my 24th hour of drug-free, unspeakable pain, when Dr. Starsky (as I took to calling him) leaned in close to me and suggested they go in and operate to get the baby out.
It was then that his chest hair came in handy, as I was able to grab a fistful, pull him even closer and scream, "I don’t care what you do, just get this thing out of me!!"
By the time I was through with him, he looked like Steve Carell in The 40 Year Old Virgin chest-waxing scene. But the important thing is, he got my baby out. Which catapulted me to the category of "mommy" and thereby qualified me to be honored on Mother’s Day.
So I wish to thank the Greeks, the Romans, Julia and Ana (whatever her intent) for providing one day of the year to honor those of us blessed enough to embark on this journey we call motherhood.
And what an enlightening journey it has been. Motherhood, I have come to learn, makes labor and delivery a piece of cake. ••
Robyn McCloskey’s column appears each week in the Northeast Times. She can be reached at crmccloskey@verizon.net