Dear momma heart,
I have been seeing you … everywhere.
In a world that does not see you, does not see your efforts, your struggles, your sacrifices, triumphs, joys and heartaches, I have been seeing you.
You are in that woman with littles holding on, hanging on, squirming out of control. Or that woman who just dealt with a tummy virus that’s run rampant of your household, creating piles of laundry, and little sleep.
You are in that woman who is waiting, waiting for life to begin, waiting for life to be gifted to her. She is waiting to know, to understand the scientific and spiritual reasons why her body, designed to give life, does not.
You are in that woman who is always striving to do it right, to not miss an event, a function a stage. You are in that woman who is always in motion, yet feels like they are never making a difference … in the cleaning, the homework, the job, the marriage. You feel you have so many balls in the air, if one is dropped all are in peril.
You are in that woman who doesn’t know what went wrong. That sweet babe you held, was it not yesterday? Who have they become, and how did you become their greatest enemy? You are to spend time with them, yet you ache spending time with them.
You are in that woman in transition, from queen of the castle to joker in the basement. You have gone from feeling constantly wanted and needed by everyone in your house, to invisible and forgotten. The only dividends that your investment is paying is in lines on your face and regular appointments for foils.
You are in that woman watching, watching your children explore their lives, mostly from the sidelines. You celebrate their victories and mourn their disappointments, their mistakes … no longer able to do more than offer cheers or a hug. You have gone from all hands on deck to hand folded in prayer.
You are in that woman who wonders what she did wrong. Her children are floundering, or won’t even leave the nest. She feels unable to move them on to mature independence, forgetting that it is sometimes, most times, a process … a slow, learn-from-your-mistakes process.
You are in the smile of joy and pride as you take on the a greatly needed, greatly loved role as Gramma, Nana, Oma … You are needed again … every weekend. You inhale the moments, you struggle for balance as work and snuggles compete.
You are in the far-off eyes of the woman in care, the woman waiting. Waiting for a call, a visit. You have your memories … your life spilled out to give life to your own. You would do it all again, but clean less, jump in the puddles with them, laugh more.
“I’d rather be a mother than anyone on earth
Bringing up a child or two of unpretentious birth…
I’d rather tuck a little child all safe and sound in bed
than twine a chain of diamonds about my [carefree] head.
I’d rather wash a smudgy face with round, bright, baby eyes
Than paint the pageantry of fame or walk among the wise.”
— Meredith Gray
itsawonderfilledlife 