Ode to Motherhood

Motherhood.

moth·er
ˈməT͟Hər/
noun
noun: mother; plural noun: mothers
1. a woman in relation to a child or children to whom she has given birth.

A woman in relation to a child.
A woman in relation to her hormones like shifting sand.
A woman in relation to this thing we call motherhood.

A woman who has labored and continues to labor.

The greatest joys and deepest grief, all surrounding these children with whom she is in relationship.

The easiest and hardest.
The most care-free and the worry-est.
The crying tears of joy and the tears of sadness.
The practice of self-control and the giving up of control.
The calmest and the craziest.
The most squirmy and the cuddliest. The quietest and the loudest.
The freest and the most captive.
The most surrounded and the most alone.
The earliest and the latest.
The anticipation and the breakthrough.
The give and the take.
The breathing in and the breathing out.
The awakening and the sleeping.
The eating and the spitting up.
The clean and the dirty.
The folding and the putting away.
The washing and the soiling.
The cooking and the cleaning.
The remembering and the forgetting.
The feeling like a superhero and the feeling like a failure.
The savoring and the surviving.
The quitting and the trying again.
The walking and the sitting.
The rolling over and the rolling back over again.
The wiping and the patting.
The picking up and the putting back down.
The never changing and the always changing.
The time going slowly and the time speeding by.
The constant emptying and the abundant filling.

The truth that this is life intensified and in full color. The thought that this is life put on hold. The feeling that this is the most I’ve ever lived and fullest my heart has ever felt.

The tears and smiles. The hugs and kisses. The fact that I am not alone. And we are all experiencing these things in one way or another. Embracing the rhythm and playing music right along. A note out of tune or place doesn’t change the rhythm. Time keeps moving and his heart keeps beating and my love keeps growing.

And my never-changing hope and anchor. The mercies new every sunrise. My Father. He always is.

-Molly

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