This particular evening had been pretty typical for the Callaway family. I was about 24 at the time, living at home, and attending grad school. I had eaten dinner with my parents and we were sitting down together to watch a movie. As the opening credits warmed up my mother quietly got up and walked into the kitchen. I yelled out “what you eatin’?” and my mother, from somewhere deep within her soul exclaimed: “It is none of your damn business what I’m eating! I’m making myself a snack and I am not sharing it and I am not making one for you!!” My father and I looked at each other perplexed. Where did this deep-seeded anger come from?

Well Mom, I get it.

Something happens when you first become a wife and then a mother. Your ability to feed yourself suddenly falls somewhere below going to the bathroom and basic personal hygiene. In other words, optional. Every time I walk into the kitchen to make myself a snack or a meal I must first feed three other people before me, because if I don’t I will end up interrupting my meal three separate times. I’ve realized recently that I don’t ever eat dessert while the kids are awake. Because once Mommy is eating something it must be explored, shared, drooled upon, longingly admired until mommy surrenders such item. There are many parts of my meal that I am willing to share but dessert is not one of them (see previous post).

I feel that resentment that sometimes I wish I could walk into the kitchen and ONLY FEED MYSELF. I don’t want to make breakfast for three other people before me, I don’t want to make 5 sandwiches before I make myself one, I don’t want to share my ice cream – EVER.

Still, that is how my mother showed me that she loved me. She cooked for me. She fed me. She sacrificed her own meals for me. And now that I am a mother I do the same. I take pride and comfort in knowing that everyone in my house leaves in the morning with a belly full of eggs, sausage and love. It is how we nurture is it not?

I’m still not sharing my ice cream so don’t even think of asking!