I thanked our 10-year-old son yesterday for making me a mother. And to have those beautiful and brilliant words credited to a woman who desperately wanted to be a mother but died before she could serve as a cruel reminder that something as seemingly every day and pedestrian as motherhood is nothing short of a gift that we’re lucky to receive. When I came across the quote a few years ago, I was immediately drawn to its power – motherhood described as “an act of infinite optimism” still punches me in the gut every time I read it. Gilda Radner had passed away from ovarian cancer a handful of years earlier – she was herald as larger than life during her heyday, but she seemed even more so to an impressionable 11-year-old girl viewing her iconic Roseanne Roseannadanna, Emily Litella, and Lisa Loopner for the first time in the 90s. I’ve been a fan of Gilda Radner ever since I was in 5th grade when my parents introduced my siblings and me to the first years of SNL. My husband and I watched Love, Gilda last year at my insistence. It’s huge and scary – it’s an act of infinite optimism. For all the times that motherhood has proved itself to be terrifying, achingly lovely, anxiety-inducing, overwhelming, and all-consuming, I’ve never once considered myself anything but lucky to be called mommy by my children. While I can think of hundreds of other words that can describe my motherhood experience, none quite succinctly capture the essence of how I feel more so than lucky.
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