Motherhood:
To love, nurture, give and care unconditionally...
Way
before this chapter of birthing, I was motherly.
At a young age, I took in every stray, injured animal and mothered it back. I started to teach at 18. I ‘adopted’ those children in a
nurturing way. I had in my heart this is
what I must do.
I was
told, at 25, I would not conceive children of my own. I left the doctor’s
office in a huff, crying on the inside. I mourned. My body carried a sadness
for all who wanted children but could not have children. My mind switched to
redefine the role of a Mother and I saw that Mothers give birth in different
ways. Some are teachers, neighbors, friends and mentors. We hold hands and lift
each other in this crazy-loving-insanely-passionate journey.
And
now I see it… It’s a sisterhood of the divine
feminine.
Contrary
to the doctors and their declaration of me being childless my heart and body
said otherwise. In intervals of 15 and 13 years ago I birthed two bundles of
pure joy.
I have
kissed imaginary cuts and bruises and given a colorful band aid just because I
knew it would take the hurt away. Superficial
wounds hurt too. As a mother I know a Popsicle will ease the trauma of a
fall or distract while plucking splinters from a toe.
Those sweet baby feet so tender and warm. I close my eyes and cherish the smell; its softness lingers and melts into my memory’s soul.
Those sweet baby feet so tender and warm. I close my eyes and cherish the smell; its softness lingers and melts into my memory’s soul.
And there
are those other moments too where I have walked the halls while comforting a
sobbing child. Not sure which one of us wanted to cry more.
I have
sat beside a hospital bed listening to the drone, beep and whistles of machines
telling me my son was fighting for his life. I knew he would win.
We lovingly
chide and cajole. We dance when they pee. We sing silly tunes to get them to
poop. We wave good-bye to the creation of waste and watch it swirl in a flush.
We add
stars to charts, make beds, sweep crumps, and pour milk in our coffee from a ‘sippy’
cup.
We let
them wear snow boots in July and flip flops in December just because they are having one of those days.
I have
held, wiped, rocked, cursed, screamed, cried and wondered am I doing this motherhood thing right?
We do
it right and wrong. We learn to forgive and listen to our hearts. We learn to
let go and let be. We see ourselves young and we grow too.
We
walk with exhaustion and weariness but also with joy and happiness.
We
wear the stains of motherhood; any infant’s cry can be the ‘let down’ of milk.
We
help one another when the car seat won’t click. Some days nothing clicks into place.
We let
go at school and walk away trying hard to smile but the lump in our throat we
can’t hide.
We
give the keys and turn them free.
We
listen, laugh, and carry each other through.
We want to hear, “You did okay, mom.” They now stand taller and I look and say back, “You did well too.”
We want to hear, “You did okay, mom.” They now stand taller and I look and say back, “You did well too.”
I
am a mother
by Carolyn Riker
by Carolyn Riker
a
mother’s love
is a
child’s first love
the
birth
a gift
washed
upon
the shore
nurtured
from the
milky moon
breast
moments
after birth
I met
your eyes
Endless
orbs
stars
the
breath of new
Creation
held in my arms
Toes
creased
Fingers
curled
a
mother’s love
wrapped
in a cocoon
a
mother’s instinct
to
protect
tender
right now
to let
go as they grow
a
mother’s love
is
what I give you
~
~If you are interested in seeing your poetry appear in this blog, or submitting a poem by a woman that has inspired you, please click here for submission guidelines. I greatly look forward to hearing from you!~
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