As promised, here is my own poem to celebrate my wonderful mother and Limerick Day simultaneously. Enjoy!There lack syllables in a haiku to express how I feel about you. My love’s parameters surpass pentameters, but these limericks will just have to do. Giving birth is no walk in the park, but you brought me to light from the dark. Please know that I’m glad for each contraction you had, and I thank you for every stretch mark. I hear motherhood’s no picnic either, nursing nightmares, stomach bugs, fever, always on call for a mishap or fall. In wetting pants, I was quite the achiever. For each grilled cheese, I owe you a kiss. (Cut diagonally, made with cheddar, not Swiss.) No, “Thank you for lunch,” just a little nose scrunch, and, “Are you sure there aren’t onions in this?” Superstition says, “Unlucky thirteen.” You say, “Eleven through eighteen, you mean?” Years that I’d declare war over curfew or chore: a live nuclear hormone machine. I hope the motherhood moments lamented are outnumbered by jellybean flavors invented, jigsaw puzzles completed, card games competed, and Christmas carols harmoniously presented. After your day in the classroom was through, you’d come home for teaching round two. You taught me always to try and that it’s alright to cry. Of our shared days, there’s not one that I rue.*
*That last line’s a joke about an incident in which my lovely mother convinced me to rub an herb called rue all over my skin to repel mosquitoes, backfiring in an allergic reaction that gave me an itchy, purple, boiling rash for about 4 months. I suppose I do “rue” that day, but even that story is an example of my mom trying to do what was best for me. I’m so grateful to have gotten such a good one!