“Mom! Mommmmm! Wake UP!” implored my six year old this morning as she poke-poke-poked me on the shoulder. I groaned and pulled the covers tightly over my head while mumbling something about it being Mother’s Day and that meant I got to do whatever I wanted: like sleep in. After all, it was only 6:17am.

An hour or so later, I heard her creep in the room. Creep-creep-creep. She lifted the blue mosquito net over her head and I watched it slowly billow around her as she climbed into my bed. Quietly, she crept forward and poked me again. “Mom … Mom. Mom.MOM!MOOMMMMM!!” I groaned and squinted my eyes, dry from the weak air conditioner. Morning’s aren’t my thing. Don’t like them. Never have. Not a morning person. Under the covers I went. Again.

This time, though, my daughter insisted I pay attention because she had a present for me. It was a card that her dad drew and she colored in. F went through great pains explaining the pattern she used coloring in a large exclamation mark (her favorite punctuation mark) with both our favorite colors: “The pattern goes red, turquoise, green, blue, red, turquoise, green, blue.” It warmed my heart.

My daughter then handed me one of the flavored Chapsticks I bought her over Christmas and explained that she was giving me some lipstick. Her plan, she announced, is to give me one of her flavored Chapsticks every year until she runs out. Couldn’t help but admire her frugality.

During lunch at a lovely restaurant in Yangon, I wondered what future Mother’s Days would look like. Most certainly her dad won’t be sitting across the table like he was today. Chances are I will point out items at a shop a few days leading up to it, tell her what I like, and hand over pocket money so she can “sneakily” go off and buy it for me. As a “surprise.”

Most holidays moving forward will be much the same I suspect: Me telling my daughter what I want, giving her the money, and her trying to surprise me … sans the surprise.

It’s not that it’s a bad thing or that I’m feeling sorry for myself. It’s just that it will be different. Mother’s Day won’t be the same and neither will birthdays or Christmases. For either of us. For any of us (myself, my daughter, and her dad). It will all change.

Throughout the meal, it became obvious my daughter wasn’t feeling well; her throat hurt and she fell asleep in the car on the way home. She wanted to be carried indoors once we got home. Her dad took her right hand, I took her left, and we walked F to the bedroom. Once under her covers, she cried out, pointing to me.

I lifted up her billowing blue mosquito net, climbed under, and laid next to her. No words were spoken as she snuggled against me, resting her hand in mine. I brushed the sticky hair off her warm forehead; she whimpered then nestled in closer.

In that moment, I realized that this Mother’s Day, I did get what I wanted: She was the first thing I saw when I woke up. She was the bright beginning of my day. I got to hold her as she sweetly gave over to sleep.  I will be her’s forever. She will be mine forever.

Our life is changing rapidly, but one thing is certain: Every day is Mother’s Day. 

What about you? What did you want for Mother’s Day?