A personal piece written on Mother's Day, Sunday 14th May 2017
Does motherhood define me? A question I have asked myself often. And if the answer is 'yes', is that such a bad thing? I am a warrior (and a worrier). A temple that created, carried and birthed three miracles. I am a teacher and fierce protector. A nurse and a human thermometer able to gage a fever at the slightest touch of hand. I am a mind reader, a magician, a storyteller and a dream catcher. A make-something-out-of-nothinger. A cook, chauffeur and proud homemaker (you know, that place where everyone's heart is). I am the warmest of blankets and the best back scratcher. I am a safe haven and a forever friend. And I am capable. Ridiculously capable... who knew! Above all this, I am love. A love like no other. An unwavering, overflowing, unquestionable love. But with all of this, I am also flawed. I carry guilt (so much guilt), I fuck up sometimes, I have bad days, I raise my voice, I lose my patience. I send my daughter to school dressed in costume on the wrong day. I am a mother... but I am also human. Motherhood has allowed me to add all of the above (and so much more) to my 'Resume of life'... and if that's what defines me (at least at this stage in my life) than I will wear it with pride. I once read somewhere that sometimes it feels like we 'fall into' motherhood... but as time passes, as we grow older and our children grow up, the 'falling' becomes, in the end, into ourselves. And, it defines us, forever.
