Back in the days before Eleni entered my life, Mother’s Day was something of a mixed blessing. As the only child in a loving Mediterranean family, I was deeply bonded to both of my parents and had a close (if not always easy) relationship with my mom. So on her special day, I’d shower her with the things she adored — a sentimental card, a handbag, a pretty knit sweater, a bouquet of fresh flowers.
My mom always seemed pleased with the gifts I chose, and was grateful that I’d abandoned my West Coast life, lived nearby, and could join her and Dad for Mother’s Day dinner. But as the years rolled on — and I continued to be single and childless — I began to feel that the syrupy cards, fashion accessories, bright tulips, and three-course meals weren’t enough. Mom, I suspected, wanted a grandchild — and for all I knew, she wanted one fast.
By my mid- to late-30s, I’d felt strong pangs of baby lust myself. So as each Mother’s Day came around, I filled the unspoken void, in my own life and in my mom’s, with even more elaborate gifts. If Mom couldn’t have a grandchild to hold and love, I reasoned, perhaps she’d enjoy a relaxing manicure, an hour-long massage, or a Sunday drive out to the Hamptons. If I couldn’t provide her with an adorable little baby, maybe I could placate her spirit in some other way, I thought to myself half-heartedly.
When I was 42, I adopted Eleni and finally became a mother. Though my girl was born in China, I gave her a regal Greek name, after my mother. (At age 5, Eleni now asks, “Can’t I please change my name to Lizzie?”) On our first Mother’s Day together, Eleni had been home for about nine months, and my parents were still agog. Following tradition, we went out to dinner and, true to form, I spent half the meal chasing my toddler around the hectic restaurant. No matter. I could feel Eleni’s magic transforming our family. For the first time in years, I felt calm, as if my China-born baby was the missing piece of our Mediterranean puzzle. After years of waiting, I could finally join a mother’s club, where I rightfully belonged.
This year, Eleni, my parents, and I will celebrate our fifth Mother’s Day together. How time floats by! Motherhood has become a part of my skin, and an even larger part of my identity. As the big day approaches, I no longer obsess over what to buy my mom. (In fact, I usually run out for a token gift hours before I see her.) These days, I’m the recipient of hand-drawn cards, painted flowerpots, little framed photos, and kisses from my sweet, loving girl.
My mother is now nearly 80 years old, and I’m grateful for all the time we’ve had to build our relationship. I’m thrilled that Mom can now watch her namesake — her grandchild, Eleni Xue Jing — grow into a smart, strong, thoughtful child. I look back, and look ahead, with gratitude and with honor. I remember all those years of silent waiting, and I seize the enormous chance to experience the grand gift of motherhood.
