A Mother’s Heart

I was never able to fully understand the true depth of a mother’s love, until I had a child of my own.  A mother’s heart carries an unbreakable love for her children and takes on the weight of their heartache.  If it could be measured, we would find the strongest thing in the world tucked inside each mother’s chest.

Her children are not just the ones that are a part of her, but every child that is abandoned, afraid, or wounded becomes hers and her heart aches for them.  It breaks for every suffering mother and longs to comfort them.  I am sure the world would crumble if mother’s did not exist.

As a child, I wanted to grow up to be just like my mother.  She was beautiful, and smart and basically still a child herself, having me when she was only 20.  I clung to her side, only feeling safe as long as I was within inches of her.

During my teenage years, I stubbornly wanted to be anything but.  Like most teenagers and their mothers, I’m sure, we butted heads constantly.  In my eyes she was no longer smart and kind, but carefully plotted out various ways to ruin my very existence.  Hateful words were thrown at her with out a second thought and many years past before I looked at her as something other than my mortal enemy.  I look back on those years and can’t help but cringe, hoping she doesn’t do the same.

Thankfully, with age comes wisdom.  (10 years in a different state than her probably didn’t hurt either.)  Now, with a family of my own, I feel much more like that little girl and want to be just like the woman who never stopped loving me.  I’ve watched her run across marathon finish lines, pursue a nursing degree, selflessly care for her children throughout countless moves and trials, kneel down in prayer for support and guidance, and never stop supporting her family.  We still have many differences, but I am inspired by her strength and hope that I inherited an once of what she has.

One of my favorite quotes is by Renita Weems, and perfectly describes my feelings for my mom.

“I cannot forget my mother. She is my bridge. When I needed to get across, she steadied herself long enough for me to run across safely”.

Happy Mother’s day!

“The years are short…

…but the days are long.”  

Normally, that saying is switched around, but today this is more appropriate.  I read this a couple of years ago, while sifting through a book on happiness.  While the rest of the book left my mind in about a week or so, this has stuck with me.  I try to remind myself as much as possible to live in the moment, let go of the past, and stop worrying so much about the future, but none of that really meant anything until I had my baby.  

That 5lb 13oz bundle of joy of mine, turns ONE tomorrow!  Never has a year felt so short.  It has definitely been one of the most difficult years of my life, and like a clique mommy, I admit, I could never imagine the amount of joy he brings to me every single day.  

Of course, my first year of parenthood I decided to start my novel on top of trying to figure out how the hell to raise a child.  While I sometimes feel guilty for reading over my manuscript instead of playing with the little one on the floor, I also have to give credit to him for giving me the “push” I needed to actually follow my dreams. 

I want my son to be proud of me and grow up knowing that he can be/do anything he wants in this life.  

For that reason, I write.  I dream, and I write some more.