Being a mother can bring so much calm. Before, I was constantly looking for happiness within other people, places, or wherever I thought I could find it. Motherhood has helped me to love myself through loving you. I no longer wonder what the world holds for me because I am already holding my whole world in my arms. To look at you is to look at a world full of opportunity, love, laughter, and accomplishment. You have filled my heart and given me a reason to be my very best.
Motherhood is such a beautiful part of a woman’s life and I’m so happy you chose to embrace it.
It’s 9 months of a person growing inside of you.
9 months of all those chemical, hormonal changes in your body and stretch marks spreading across your skin like maps to places you forget to love, bringing out all the softness you buried under your chest when the world got too rough.
9 months of every side of you that’s still learning how to heal.
None of it all matters when that tiny bundle is cradled in your arms, struggling to keep her eyes open.
I hope you’re not too rough pushing her out of the nest and teaching her how to fly.
I know you’re scared for her future and for your own, but there’s nothing wrong with taking a little more time in learning how to get back on your feet and walk again.
I hope you teach your child to be brave enough to fall over and over again because you’ll always be there to pull her back up so that the pitter-patter of her footsteps and the melody of her giggles resonate through your house, which has forgotten it was ever quiet.
I hope you teach her to get trapped in the web of her own head and fall in love with the things that save her.
I hope you teach her to be loving and caring, to know the difference between fairytales and snares, to stumble on rocks and bleed but to never stop craving the smell of fresh mud after the rain under her feet.
I hope you teach her to believe in the marvel of her curious wide eyes and scraped knees, because even when you catch a butterfly and she sheds her colours on your palms, she doesn’t stop escaping and fluttering her wings.
I hope you teach her how important it is to follow your own heart because you never want her to grow old and realise that in her pursuit for stability, she forgot how to be happy.
But most of all, I hope you teach her to be kind. To learn to love the fuzzy feeling of warmth spreading across her chest and her palms every time a wide smile stretches itself across someone’s face because she’d rather buy them food than save all her paychecks for jewellery she’d never use.
To teach her to be happy with being called crazy every time she’s grinning and excitedly talking about how she rescued a mangled puppy off the streets to give it a home.
To teach her how the world runs on these random acts of kindness but everyone is so deeply immersed in their own troubles that they forget how important it is to smile.
Last of all, I hope you teach her to say, “I love you” and never not mean it.
Tamarind Fall; Writing prompt: To the friend who is pregnant and about to give birth.
Women have been so often cast as mothers, potential mothers, caretakers, servants, assistants, and handmaidens of all sorts that it’s become a conscious but also unconscious expectation that anyone who isn’t - at least some of the time - must be inherently unnatural. And when we find a woman who doesn’t fit this mold, we work hard to sweep her back into her box, because if she gets out, well…it might mean she has the ability to take on a multitude of roles.
Motherhood met me young. Some may see that as a failure. I don’t. I have fully surrendered and succumbed to motherhood, letting it wash over me and smooth out all my jagged edges and shape my unruly parts. It’s healed me in ways I never knew I needed healing, and it all started with those two pink lines.
Being a Young Mom Does Not Make Me a Failure, Lexi Behrndt
your mother is tired -
she puts you to sleep,
your mother is sick -
she makes you tea,
your mother is hungry -
she makes your favourite meal,
your mother is sad -
she hugs you so you feel better,
your mother is afraid,
she checks for monsters under your bed,
your mother is lost -
she helps you find your way;
your mother has always been there -
she deserves love for more than a day.
marina v., every day you are alive is a day to thank your mom.
This is good, we’re told. It’s good how Mom diminishes and martyrs herself. The message is: mothers, you are such wonderful and good people because you make yourselves smaller, because you deny your own needs, because you toil tirelessly in the shadows and no one ever thinks or notices you…this all makes you AMAZING.
What the hell kind of message is that?
Would ANYONE praise a man for this?
“It is often said that the first sound we hear in the womb is our mother’s heartbeat. Actually, the first sound to vibrate our newly developed hearing apparatus is the pulse of our mother’s blood through her veins and arteries. We vibrate to that primordial rhythm even before we have ears to hear. Before we were conceived, we existed in part as an egg in our mother’s ovary. All the eggs a woman will ever carry form in her ovaries while she is a four-month-old fetus in the womb of her mother.
This means our cellular life as an egg begins in the womb of our grandmother. Each of us spent five months in our grandmother’s womb and she in turn formed within the womb of her grandmother. We vibrate to the rhythms of our mother’s blood before she herself is born. And this pulse is the thread of blood that runs all the way back through the grandmothers to the first mother. We all share the blood of the first mother - we are truly children of one blood.”
A woman is capable of more sacrifices than a man. Man is more apt to be a hero, through some great passionate outburst of heroism. But a woman’s love makes a thousand small sacrifices, sprinkling them through the days and the months; their very repetition gives them the character of the commonplace. Not only her soul, but her body, has some share in the Calvary of Redemption; furthermore, she comes closer to death than man, whenever she brings forth a child.
Venerable Fulton J. Sheen, “Life is Worth Living