I am convinced when a woman gives birth,
t h a t
which she conceived in her womb and bled from her body
remains ever connected by imperceptible thread.
Her heartbeat echos in the steps of each child,
her soul gently stirred
by the hope in their dreams.
In form or face she finds her features reborn,
her children's lives living testiment
to how much she matters.
~ Robin Dance
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I couldn't feel the full weight of the missing until I touched them. That kind of thing just couldn't be allowed because it would serve no one.
In the distance I recognized her, she was wearing an old shirt of mine; it was only because of her I recognized him–how could the boy grow that much in such a short time?
Man-child I mused.
I couldn't stop looking at them, I can't stop looking at them. I'm not sure what I'm looking for but it's a curious eye that fixates. My children are wonders.
They tell me things that make me laugh and I fall madder in love. You think you can't love your littles any more than when they're cuddly babes, but I'll tell you you're wrong, that you have no idea how big your love will grow as they become people…not to imply they're sub-human or anything. Hardly. But when they're no longer parrot or mockingbird, when they can talk with you and not at you, it's new world and it's good.
She tells me she had never noticed how attractive we were, her father and me. It drew a snort and dismissal from me but I think beauty is in her eyes; it took her time and distance to behold, but I don't think it's surface that has gotten her attention. My woman-child is seeing with new eyes. Maturing eyes. Wisening eyes.
I make school lunches for the first time in a long time and the youngest punctures my heart: "That's the first time my sandwich has been cut in half in ten weeks," his nonchalant but appreciative declaration with no deeper meaning, but inside I recoil from its pierce.
The middle one, my young man, has p l a n s. "We're having a bro-ing away party," he informs me. Some will be heading to college, others for Summer break, him, living abroad. "A really nice restaurant (his choice is my favorite), dressing up, no phones and no girls." Yes, truly/mad/deep love for this boy who's proud of Girls Night Out with the boys, scoundrels, all of them, but I could eat them with a spoon! They have me wrapped and I'm pretty sure they know it.
I don't love being a mother, I love being their mother.
They say "home is where your heart is…."
…it's good to be home.
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My sweet friends Amber and Seth understand these things about mothers and they've embarked on a journey to share Mother Lovebombs deep and wide. For encouraging, inspiring words, please check out motherletters.com (I'll share more about it soon).