The thought that raced past all other angry responses to make its way to the front was, “Well, actually, my darling, rebellious little imp, I already did.”  I did make her. And her two sisters, and later on, her younger brother. With help from her father, I did make them all.

What’s more, I still do.

We mothers make our children. First in the womb, and then forever after. Every choice we make, every response we give, every guidance we offer, every piece of advice we share, every instruction we direct, every minute and hour and day and year spent with them we make them into the people they become.  

It’s what we sign up for when we become a mother, through whatever way we choose. It’s life’s greatest, longest, most endless commitment with no breaks, no relief, no vacations, no downtime.  Once a mother, always a mother. There are moments when we feel that responsibility deeply.  There’s no going back, even during those awful fleeting moments when we wonder if we could. 

This on-call, 24/7 existence doesn’t leave when the kids do, heading off to college or marriage or work or to travel the world or whatever it is that finally takes them from our nest. Their bodies may leave, but our awareness of their existence does not. In fact, once they are out of our care and keeping, we simply shift into a different awareness that enables us to worry and wonder and nurture and “make” from a distance.  The departure isn’t all one-sided; children are likewise permanently aware of their mother’s existence.

My 92-year-old mother still “makes” me. Because of her I can set a proper table, appreciate the impact of a good sunset and shift into a deeper gear when the going gets tough. I hope to be like her when I grow up. She “made” eight children, and more grandchildren and great-grandchildren than I even know. Her influence, embedded in all of us, makes us better people than we ever would have or could have been without her making. 

We make our children all their lives — sometimes not in a good way. Because we are on perpetual influence mode, even our imperfect influences “make” them. Anger, shouting, neglect — our negative mothering moments also make our children 

Knowing this helps us realize we should be each other’s greatest support group. If we want a better, kinder, more generous world for our children, we should reach out to support, love, cheer and champion all other mothers and their children. The world’s largest army is its mothers.  Assemble that group, give them a common cause and get out of their way. That honestly would change the world more profoundly than any other attempt out there. 

The singular common bond possessed of the entire human race is that we all were born from our mothers. Things go in a million directions from that point, but the truth remains that we all have a mother who did, in fact, make us. And to varying degrees and by varying ways, still makes us today.

We celebrate Mother’s Day for all the “making” that mothers have done and continue to do. Mothers are the creators, the guides, the “makers,” very aware that through every word we say, gift we give, help we offer, solace we share, story we tell, advice we impart, we make our children all of their lives — and all of ours. 

Strangely, all the exhaustion, satisfaction, sorrow, joy, fury, fulfillment, confusion, fear and calm is worth it.  

It’s what makes us mothers. 

D. Louise Brown lives in Layton. She writes a biweekly column for the Standard-Examiner.