We are called by different names;
Mom, Mummy, Mum, Nana, Mamie,
Madre, Matka, Mamita, Mother, Ma
There are so many types of us lately
Products of how we were raised
Books we read
Whispers in our ears about “how” “when” “why”
Blogs we follow
Online friends we trust to give us answers we cannot see clearly
Family that has opinions, thoughts, traditions, expectations
Our own gut instincts, the place where we feel it’s ‘right’
There are those that got pregnant easily, the simple act of conception an easy one, a joyful and sexy one and others , like me, that struggled so long and hard to conceive my babies that I was happy for no other reason than the chance to have a broken body fixed.
Credit Image: glow mama on Flickr
There are those that believe breast is best and others like me who filled bottles with formula with no thought other than nourishing my boys.
Those that use diapers made of soft cloth against their baby’s skin and other like me who have bought my weight and more in disposable diapers over the past 3 years.
Those that brought their babies home and stayed and others, like me, who put heels and smart suits on and went back to work.
Some women didn’t want to leave their children for a second; I took showers every day, shaved my legs, conditioned my hair, never feeling any guilt about it, never wondering how I would be able to.
I just did it.
I still do.
There would be trepidation to immunize and then there will be moms like me who make the appointment, hold their babies and let them slide a needle into a thigh or arm, comforting their crying child, my tears just as real as my baby’s, but never questioning my decision to do it.
Their health before my fear
There will be discussions about when to turn a car seat around, a crib into a toddler bed, when to introduce solid foods and playmates or potty train
In my house, those decisions were quick and made without a moment’s hesitation.
Going with the flow
I questioned very little, knowing that I was really at the mercy of their development, the whim of their collective hearts.
Sometimes I felt like I was not like most moms
Unorthodox, for sure
Yet there are things about me that are so much like you.
All of us, the Mams and Matkas, the Mummies and Moms
We love our children
We would give up our lives for them to never feel any pain, or suffer any injustice
We would hurt anyone who hurt them
We want to make the world a better place for their childhood
Leave it sweeter than we found it so they can dance in it
We only want what is best, sacrificing for their dreams, helping them reach
We hug them at every turn
We encourage and discipline, knowing that line is fine and delicate
We celebrate their lives
We talk about them with joy and pride, we puff and preen
Hold them tight
And let them go
We worry and wonder
We stand in awe at the feelings that we have when we look into their eyes
Or feel their tiny arms encircle our necks
We watch and wait for time to steal moments from us
We turn for just a second and see
Their baby chubbiness melting into muscular legs that crawl, then walk, climb, skip, and then run
Farther away from us with each milestone, in every new day
We contemplate a life before them or without them and tears sting our eyes
We stand in amazement of the “Miracle” that has become our children
We are called by different names
But when we hear the word, the moniker falling sweetly from our baby’s mouths
There is no distinction or diversity
We are all the same.
Kir writes for shoes & cupcakes at http://www.thekircorner.com
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