«Inspired by motherhood.»

One can't really tell the story about motherhood until one knows it intimately; till there was no way separate out the mother and the child; the devotee and mentor, the lover and the friend… These labels, so apparently significant as individual titles of perhaps great epics in their own right prior to the immersion in motherhood, now meld together in a single life-giving meaning: Love.

The story tells itself, living in the memory-hearts of mother and children. With each uncontrolled outburst of laughter, tears, anger, and forgiveness, in the twinkling eye of inside jokes and the present awareness of unrelenting acceptance… Love.

Motherhood is the fast-tack to humility… and humanity. I think we can all agree on that.

My story of motherhood has its own unique signature, texture, colors, and materials. Yet placed within the great tapestry, we blend, beautify, bless and complete each other. With out my mother’s love before mine and the constant golden umbilical cord that threads together the continuity that love is life, each story of mother and child, is alone and crumbles.

We are part of the greatest love story ever written, living out the new discovery of life and meaning, generation after generation. It begs the question, “How many rounds do you suppose it will take till we can accept without reservation that the learning of our mother and hers before her and so on, precisioned birthing us into who we are in this world, and then perhaps not waist our precious mom-moments on reinventing the mom wheel?“ Just asking.

Ya know, at my age, the memory of resisting my mother and all she stood for and the way she did it, is very vague in my mind. It's like a story told by someone else, not lived by me. Perhaps that is the gift of forgiveness, motherhood and gratitude; the edges smooth over and only warm fuzzies seem real. Or it’s the some-timers…. I don’t know.

What I know is that I thought I knew what love was, in the sense of loving unconditionally, till I was up with my newborn for the millionth night in a row, and even as I doggedly, could not remember my own name, I realized there was no place, in no situation I would rather be, than in that moment, loving and comforting~ being with this child.

The lesson (for those of us who are poor learner and wheel re-inventors) is not without repetition opportunities; ‘important’ phone calls interrupted by skinned knees and “I love you, mommies”, deciphering the secret code behind the relentless questions, to find my child had discovered something they liked about themselves, they didn’t know how to champion~ being their champion~ and sometimes keeping their secret, the moments when you poignantly
realize that you don’t need anything about this child to be different than it is, or to change in anyway for you to love without reservation…

This is the stuff we live for ~completion~ Love received by being given fully…

~Ummm~ the joys of motherhood ~Yummy~