motherhood

I want to promise you / permanence, my constant orbit, but even continents / are revisions. I am only your diving bell in water / hemmed by shifting plates.

Maybe I stepped into the skin my mother left behind, and became the girl my mother had been, the one she still wanted to be. Maybe I was wearing her youth now like an airy scarf, an accessory, all bright nerves and sticky pearls, and maybe that's why she spent so much time staring at me with that wistful look in her eyes. I was wearing something of hers, something she wanted back. It was written all over her face.

MOMBIE - noun - Suffers from forgetfulness, fatigue, exhaustion, moodiness, sleeplessness, confusion and moments of insanity!Has difficulty eating or drinking anything while it__ still hot and peeing alone.

H.L. Mencken once said that Puritanism is the haunting fear that someone, somewhere, may be having a good time. As she looked down at her dead child, Mary Beth realized that the unbearable sense of loss she felt was tempered by gratitude and a kind of relief. There would be no more boyfriends now, no more weekend parties. Ruby would remain pure forever, and for that her mother was deeply grateful. Catholicism is the haunting fear that someone, somewhere may be having a good time . . . with your daughter.

Making the decision to have a child - it's momentous. It is to decide forever to have your heart go walking outside your body

If I had written the greatest book, composed the greatest symphony, painted the most beautiful painting or carved the most exquisite figure I could not have felt the more exalted creator than I did when they placed my child in my arms.

The Mother Of GodThe threefold terror of love; a fallen flareThrough the hollow of an ear;Wings beating about the room;The terror of all terrors that I boreThe Heavens in my womb.Had I not found content among the showsEvery common woman knows,Chimney corner, garden walk,Or rocky cistern where we tread the clothesAnd gather all the talk?What is this flesh I purchased with my pains,This fallen star my milk sustains,This love that makes my heart's blood stopOr strikes a sudden chill into my bonesAnd bids my hair stand up?

When she had him along, the world looked different, and she liked the way she saw things she'd never seen before. . . But she noticed other things, too -- the way she herself felt acutely visible with the baby in her arms, and the way some people's faces lit up when they saw a child. His warm weight was like living ballast, thrumming with energy, giving her substance. Folks were drawn to that.

Women are like trees, growing slowly over time. So many rings creating layers of maturity as their branches spread and reach out to the sky. Motherhood prunes those branches. Sometimes it prunes them back hard and painfully. But if you let go and trust in the good of what it means to be a mother, if you can trust in the knowledge learned from the hard lessons, then faith and belief will carry you through. And in the end, you will grow fuller and more beautiful from the, sometimes harsh, pruning of motherhood.

Because I'm your mother, that's why.

Being mom is one of my favorite things. It makes my day watching my kids grow and accomplish things in their lives.

I once heard someone on the radio saying that a bee is never more than forty minutes away from starving to death, and this fact has stayed with me because it seems to have a certain personal resonance. My children are in a perpetual proximity to catastrophe: concussion, dehydration, drowning or sunstroke. Keeping them safe requires constant vigilance.I've turned into one of those mothers, full of terror.

Lollipops and raindropsSunflowers and sun-kissed daisiesRolling surf and raging seaSailing ships and submarinesOld Glory and __urple mountain__ majesty__creaming guitar and lilting rhymeFlight of fancy and high-steppin_ dancesSet free my mind to wander_Imagine the ant__ marching journeys.Fly, in my mind__ eye, on butterfly wings.Roam the distant depths of space.Unfurl tall sails and cross the ocean.Pictures made just to enthrallCreating images from my truthPainting hopes and dreams on my canvasCapturing, through my lens, the ephemeralLet me ruminate __on sensual darkness_Tremble o__r Hollywood__ fluttering Gothics_Ride the edge of my seat with the hero_Weep with the heroine__ desperation.Yet_ more than all these things_Give me words spun out masterfully_Terms set out in meter and rhyme_Phrases bent to rattle the soul_Prose that always miraculously inspires me!The trill runs up my spine, as I recall_A touch_ a caress_a whispered kiss_Ebony eyes embracing my soul_Two souls united in beat of hearts.A butterfly flutter in my wombMy lover__ wonder o__r my swellingThe testament of our love given lifeNewly laid in my lover__ armsLuminous, sweet ebony eyesJust so much like his father__A gaze of wonder and contentmentFrom my babe at mother__ breastWords of the Divine set down for meFaith, Hope, Love, and CharityGrace, Mercy, and undeserved Salvation__y Shepherd will supply my need__hese are the things that inspire me.

Being a mother was like being trapped in the first fifteen minutes of a horror film. Everything was fine, lovely. But there was this persistent sense of dread.

I didn't say any of this to my sister. How I saw her being broken into mediocrity and motherhood; her body broken and then her mind - or did her mind go first, it's sort of hard to disentangle - and then for her to turn around and say Broken is Best, I didn't say how that made me furious beyond measure.

Fatigue is an excellent gauge of well-being because it is a very hard symptom to mask. The only way to get rid of fatigue is to treat the underlying causes. Fatigue has many faces, but they all say the same thing - the mental and physical load are too great.

But would I have chosen to be Paul? I'd miss Will too much, the feel of his shins.

And it occurs to me that maybe the reason my mother was so exhausted all the time wasn__ because she was doing so much but because she was feeling so much.