As I woke this morning, feeling pretty blessed, I thought of the moments motherhood has wrought. Those fleeting memories which rise and cast their shadow in our life, draw tears from our eyes, cast doubt on our confidence, mold our hearts and overflow our being with pride.
I am a mother.
I am mother to a lost child, loved yet unseen and unknown. Seven months in my womb and lost without dreams achieved, breathe drawn, loving arms encircled.
I am mother to a son. A son whose very being is kind, patient and loving. A son who is the best kind of father. The father who chose… chose to be a father to children not his own. Chose to change diapers, lift waving hands, drop all and run to the call ‘Daddy!’
I am mother to a daughter. A daughter filled with love, loudness, bravery. A daughter venturing, exploring, testing grounds. A daughter who screams, curses, and loves in the same breath.
I am mother to a daughter. A quiet, private, nice daughter. A daughter for whom nice is overused, under-rated, but intensely good. Ever bright, ever happy, ever kind…ever nice.
I am mother of a step-sort to three daughters, two sons. Love arrives in different bundles. Some late, some grown, some distant, some glowing. But it arrives. It’s a strange role; step-sort to grown children. A difficult step to take and find welcome. Each foothold I celebrate and enjoy!
I am a grandmother by proxy. Seven grandchildren in two years! Each a different soul, a different life, a glowworm in my being. I am indeed blessed. Screams of ‘Nanny!’, calls for ‘Michelle!’, and the quiet, hidden, secreted pull of ‘Grandma’ from a grandson who whispers in my ear and yearns to call me Grandma for all to hear, but is afraid it will hurt the other grandmas. After all I’m a step-sort. But in my heart, I’m a Grandmother and I love my grandchildren.
I am a mother.
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