Childbirth and labor are nothing compared to the pain of motherhood. Still, I would do it all again. Parenthood is a guilty affair. No matter how hard one tries, it is impossible to discharge the responsibility perfectly.
Mothers are the nurturers, the worriers. If you’re like me, my favorite time is bedtime, when these frail shoulders carry the day’s burdens and crisis and concerns to a higher power, but not before I tiptoe through each room making sure the covers are on, each one is in bed, no fires, no wild animals, and still I fight the temptation to check their pulses as they sleep making sure no one succumbs to SDS.
Remember, the funny and joyous times of motherhood: like the time I felt like a short-order cook and waitress and busser all at one meal. I no sooner had everyone’s plates served with four courses, when it was time to remove the plates and serve dessert. I mentioned “there better be a good tip.” While clearing the table, gathering plates, I notice some coins underneath one; 83 cents to be exact. Or the mini vacation when our autistic son gave a peep show of his sleeping, undressed father, to the motel guests standing by, via large blinds. “Open, shut.”
Don’t let the parenting years get away from you as your contributions to your children could rank as the greatest accomplishments in life. They have in mine. Thank you moms for your courageous love and sacrifice.
Angela Michael, Highland