Mother's Day Massage
And a celebration of the sacrifices we make without a second thought.
At 9:15 that morning, I was supposed to be wearing a terry cloth robe, sipping cucumber water, and waiting to lie facedown on a heated massage table.
Instead, at exactly 9:15, I was in our pediatrician’s waiting room, arm around my boogery bubba as we admired Nemo and Dory in the aquarium.
I book myself a massage once a year as a Mother’s Day treat. I schedule it months in advance, and as the weeks narrow towards that second weekend in May, my neck and back start aching in some weird Pavlovian anticipation.
The morning of this year’s massage, as the kids ate breakfast before school, I showered and dressed. But when I came down, my oldest, who typically transitions from eating breakfast into moving nonstop around the house until it’s time to leave, was lying on the coach, staring off into space, his sinuses rumbling like a loaded rock tumbler.
His slight fever put the decision over the edge, and I knew there was no way I could, in good conscience, drop this child off at school.
So, yeah. No massage today.
I pivoted. His boogers I thought had been allergies were clearly more, so I went to another room and called his doctor. I hung up and called the spa to cancel, the school to report his absence. Then, I inhaled a long, heavy breath, released it all in a sigh, and proceeded with my Plan B day.
To be very clear, I’m not looking for pity. The massage will happen at some point, and I’m grateful to even have the opportunity to look forward to one. This isn’t a sad post, a “woe is me on Mother’s Day” post. It’s a reflection on our moments as parents when we do the hard thing without thinking twice.
I’m not the first (or the last) parent who has looked forward to something, only to experience a moment of crushing realization that plans have changed. I could press pause on the moment I rested my palm on his forehead and felt my heartbeat drop, as I recognized what the “right” parenting choice was and how, even though I really, really wanted that massage, it simply wasn’t going to happen that day.
My child didn’t hear a word about my needing to reschedule the massage. In no way did I make him feel guilt or shame for a turn of events outside his control, for his sniffles and fatigue and fever. Instead, I reframed my day: instead of being out and about, I was finally able to scrub our bathroom floor and get that checked off my list. Sure, I wasn’t able to address the phantom knots in my neck, but I was able to sit with my kid on the couch, reading my book while he played Mario Kart. As soon as I experienced that moment with the warm forehead and the sad heartbeats, there was no question about the turn of my day. I let myself be bummed for those seconds, but then it was time to move forward. Because, of course, that’s what we do.
I remember, years ago, weeks after my first child was born, I was talking to a veteran parent. I mentioned how wild it was that I, someone who had never changed a diaper before in her life, was now routinely dealing with poops and pees and peeking through leg holes to see if my kid had a full load. And my friend said something that has stuck with me: “When you’re a parent, you just do it. There are things you never thought you would do, but when you’ve got your kid in front of you, there’s obviously no other choice. You just do it.”
I rescheduled my massage. While a professional massage is certainly a mind-numbing hour of luxury, an experience that whisks me away from the stressors and to-do lists of everyday life, of course I rescheduled it for a different day, because there was obviously no other choice. It’s the most quintessential example of “it is what it is.”
Here’s to all the other parents who have “Plan B” days thrown at them unexpectedly, those shared moments we’ve all experienced when we know the plans have gone awry. Here’s to the phone calls to cancel and the schedules to rework and the days we have no option but to rewrite. Here’s to the parents who are just doing it every single day because this is part of the gig, because this is the beauty of life. Because there are things you never thought you would do, but when you’re a parent, you do it–you make the sacrifice, you do the hard thing. You reschedule the massage.
You just do.
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