I was born at home. It wasn’t a last minute, Plan B, accident. It was Plan A for my parents. My mom, part hippie/part badass, had determined a home birth was what she wanted to do. My dad, supportive partner and probably afraid to say no, went to birthing classes and practiced his role. And so, one morning, under the care of a midwife, and later, a doctor, my mom delivered me in her bed in sheets that had been baked in the oven to properly sanitize them. My mom wasn’t so much a hippie that she ate placenta soup but was just enough of a hippie that she planted my placenta (her placenta? our placenta?) under a tree in her backyard. A fun fact I doubt the current owners of that small house on Camden Street are aware of. And on that day, in that room, on that bed, I became a daughter.
Twenty three years and nearly five months later I delivered my daughter in a hospital room. This too was Plan A for this not hardly a hippie/not hardly a badass gal. Under the care of nurses and an obstetrician, and under the magic that is an epidural, I delivered my daughter and our(?) placenta. The placenta was disposed of however hospitals dispose of placentas and my bundled up girl was placed in my arms. And on that day, in that room, on that bed, I became a mom to my daughter.
And then again, on a beautiful fall day many years later, I became mom to another daughter. Not in a bedroom or a hospital. Not in a birthing center or a bathtub. Not under the care of nurses or doctors or doulas. We sat in a crowded courtroom as a judge declared that my daughter was my daughter and I was her mother. We never shared a placenta to be planted or disposed of, but we shared a heart. And on that day, in that courtroom, I became a mom to my daughter.
Over the years I have been blessed by this mother/daughter relationship, sandwiched between my mom and my kids as a student and a teacher, a mentor and a mentee. And as my own brood has grown from one to two to three to four, my Mom role has been front and center. And as that brood has grown, my Daughter role has been one of my biggest blessings.
I take pride (too much?) in being independent. I’ve tried to build my own inner badass and take care of my business. I don’t want to rely on others to help raise my kids. I see it as MY job. And it’s a big one. A big, fat, exhausting, beautiful job. And when I get overwhelmed with the job, either the beauty or the brokenness of it, my mom is the one I call. And she is ALWAYS there to help. Never hovering, never questioning, never (well, rarely) offering unsolicited advice, but always willing to help.
And so, over the years, we have fallen into our roles. Moms teach, daughters learn, and those of us sandwiched in the middle get to do both. But also, over the years, I’ve seen some of those roles shift. As my own daughters get older, they are teaching me things. And as my mom gets older, she is becoming less of an outspoken badass and more of a subtle one, and will occasionally lean on me for help and advice (that I sometimes offer unsolicited).
It’s not always rosy. We bicker and argue. We disagree and occasionally nitpick. I drive them crazy sometimes and they irritate me every so often. Sometimes I bite my tongue, but sometimes my words bite. But always, ALWAYS I have their back and I know they have mine.
This mother/daughter relationship is sacred and wonderful. It’s a gift that I know not everyone gets and is, inevitably, heartbreakingly temporary for those of us who are lucky enough to get to have it. We each get only a certain number of years to spend sandwiched in the middle. And I know it’s just going to keep changing and evolving. And one day, maybe, my daughters might have their own children. Either in their homes or in hospital beds or in a birthing center or a bathtub or a courtroom. Possibly someday they will share their hearts and their love and their placenta (or not) with a daughter of their own. And then they will find themselves in their own relationship that is so much more than a just a relationship, it is its own title and it is what I am blessed to be. A Mother Daughter.
Read more of Abbie Mabary’s contributions to allmomdoes here.
