We Are Mothers

We are the women with heavy eyelids, hectic homes and full hearts.

We are mothers.

When our little one forgot his favorite blanket in the car this morning, we left work to take it to him. We wiped butts, played chauffeur, cooked dinner, cleaned messes, gave baths, read books, and chased away monsters. Not once today did anyone say, Thank you.

We are unacknowledged, but we will wake up and do it all again tomorrow.

We are mothers.

Dinnertime tonight was a disaster. Our big kids complained about everything, fought with each other, and didn’t want to eat what we made for them. Our toddlers screamed and threw food across the floor because they didn’t get a nap. In all of the chaos, we yelled at our kids. Then retreated to the bathroom and cried because we lost our temper with them, again.

We are frustrated, but we always forgive and are always forgiven.

We are mothers.

Today, we are so incredibly tired. It takes everything we have to put one foot in front of the other until our kids finally go to sleep. Our minds won’t stop replaying the endless list of chores we need to finish—clean up dinner, empty the dishwasher, switch out laundry because no one has any clean clothes. There is so much weighing on us tonight. Despite all of this, we just spent the last half-hour lying at the end of our child’s bed with our eyes closed, while they sang themselves to sleep, because they were scared and needed us.

We are overwhelmed, but we will always find time for our children.

We are mothers.

Long after everyone else, we finally make it to bed. Our bodies are drained, but our minds are still racing. Sleep escapes us, once again, because we are worried. Worried that we yell too much. Worried that we are too hard on our kids. That we are not hard enough on our kids. That we are not making the right decisions.

We are insecure, but our kids know we love them, so we are doing something right.

We are mothers.

When we discovered we were expecting a child, we knew things were about to drastically change. Caring for a baby would be difficult. We wondered how we would manage to fit a child into our lives. What we didn’t grasp was that being a mother would become our lives. That it would consume us.

Some days we wake up wondering if this madness will ever end because we don’t think we can endure another day. Other times, we stare intently at our children with longing hearts, hold their tiny faces in our hands, and beg them, Please stay here in this moment with me forever. But we know they won’t.

Our precious infants learn to crawl, walk and talk too quickly. They challenge us through the terrible twos and threes. We fall in love with the inquisitive preschooler, always asking questions and saying too much at the wrong time. Our grade-school kids keep us busy with homework and practice, but we are so proud of the amazing little people they have become.

As tweens, we see the beginnings of the distance. Our children slowly creep away from us, and our hearts break, just a little. They transform into teenagers who assert their independence and suddenly know the answers to every question in life. Then they come back to us, as young adults who realize they never really had the answers after all. They marry, have children of their own, and we become grandmothers.

Through it all, we will be there. Motherhood has no finish line.

The days we endure with our children now, as insignificant as they seem, are the building blocks of their lives. Today’s struggles become tomorrow’s memories.

Even when we are gone, our sons and daughters will long for us, just as we will long for our mothers. Our children will cling tightly to every memory they have of us. They will find comfort in looking at their hands and knowing, These are my mother’s hands.

We will always be our child’s safest place.

We are mothers.