This is for all the mothers who
DIDN'T win Mother of the Year last year, all the runners-up and all the
wannabes. Including the mothers too tired to enter or too busy to care.
 |
| Robert Baker via Wikimedia |
This is for all the mothers who have
sat up all night with sick toddlers in their arms, wiping up barf laced with
Oscar Mayer wieners and cherry Kool-Aid saying, "It's OK honey, Mommy's
here."
This is for the mothers who gave birth to babies they'll never see, and the mothers who took those babies and made them homes.
This is for all the mothers of the
victims of school shootings, and the mothers of the murderers. For the mothers
of the survivors, and the mothers who sat in front of their TVs in horror,
hugging their child who just came home from school, safely.
This is for all the mothers who run
carpools and make cookies and sew Halloween costumes, and all the mothers who
DON'T.
What makes a good mother anyway? Is
it patience? Compassion? Broad hips?
Is it the ability to nurse a baby,
cook dinner, and sew a button on a shirt, all at the same time?
Or is it heart?
Is it the ache you feel when you
watch your son or daughter disappear down the street, walking to school alone
for the very first time?
Is it the jolt that takes you from
sleep to dread, as you bound from bed to crib at 2 a.m. to put your hand on the
back of a sleeping baby?
Is it the need to flee from wherever
you are and hug your child when you hear news of a school shooting, a fire, a
car accident, or a baby dying?
I think so.
So this is for all the mothers who
sat down with their children and explained all about making babies, and for all
the mothers who wanted to but just couldn't.
This is for reading "Goodnight,
Moon" twice a night for a year. And then reading it again. "Just one
more time."
This is for all the mothers who mess
up. Who yell at their kids in the grocery store and swat them in despair and
stomp their feet like a tired 2 year old who wants ice cream before dinner.
This is for all the mothers who
taught their daughters to tie their shoelaces before they started school. And
for all the mothers who opted for Velcro instead.
This is for all the mothers who bite
their lips-sometimes until they bleed-when their 14 year olds dye their hair
green. Who lock themselves in the bathroom when babies keep crying and won't
stop.
This is for all the mothers who show
up at work with spit-up in their hair and milk stains on their blouses and
diapers in their purse.
This is for all the mothers who teach
their sons to cook and their daughters to sink a jump shot.
This is for all mothers whose heads
turn automatically when a little voice calls "Mom?" in a crowd, even
though they know their own offspring are at home.
This is for mothers who put pinwheels
and teddy bears on their children's graves.
This is for mothers whose children
have gone astray, who can't find the words to reach them.
This is for all the mothers who sent
their sons to school with stomachaches, assuring them they'd be just FINE once
they got there, only to get calls from the school nurse and hour later asking
them to please pick them up, right away.
This is for young mothers stumbling
through diaper changes and sleep deprivation, and mature mothers learning to
let go.
This is for working mothers and
stay-at-home mothers, single mothers and married mothers, mothers with money,
and mothers without.
This is for you all. So hang in
there! We love you!
