To be a mother is to ache

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I wanted to be a mother.
I wanted soft skin to nibble on,
warm, small bodies to wear in lovely maternal wraps,
eager, young hearts to teach to love the true, the good, the beautiful.

I just didn’t want to be so achingly tired.
I didn’t want my dreams to be dashed.
I didn’t want my body to be irrevocably altered.
I didn’t want my time to be reduced to nothing.

I thought of woman after woman
surrendering their bodies and lives,
doing these common acts of
carrying and waiting;
most now buried and turned to dust;
their stories forgotten though
they bore and bear history forward.

When I looked at that plastic stick,
it’s two lines rechristening me:
mother,
I didn’t realize what giving my body for
the tiniest of lives would mean.

That to be a mother is to ache, to be dashed, irrevocably altered, and reduced to nothing.
But then to be remade.

Until I unworthily waited for and carried the weight of life,
I couldn’t fathom that for a person to be a whole universe for a person is to defy time and space.
To grow great and magnificently spherical with a wild changeling;
with a momentary rosebud, tadpole, whirlwind, pugilist but always
person fated to be an
immortal horror or everlasting splendor
is the most unbearable and beautiful
mystery.

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To be a mother is to ache

4 thoughts on “To be a mother is to ache

  1. =) So lovely. I’m still crying a little bit.
    It reminded me of TS Elliot’s words on the incarnation: “the hint half guessed the gift half understood is incarnation. Here the impossible union of spheres of existence is actual, Here the past and future are conquered, and reconciled… And right action is freedom from past and future also. For most of us, this is the aim never here to be realised; who are only undefeated because we have gone on trying; we, content at the last if our temporal reversion nourish (Not too far from the yew-tree) the life of significant soil.”

    Liked by 1 person

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