In honor of Mother’s Day, I’m posting a poem I wrote when Maeve was just a tiny baby…eight years ago!  All the feelings from then are the same, to an even deeper degree, after eight years, three babies, the tumultuous toddler years, school days, and many many moments of being a Mom.

Paper thin eyelids flicker with dreams;

Sighs of futures yet unmet

Move in and out against my chest.

And I, too awed to move,

feel more strongly

the protective muscles of my arms,

the fearful beating of my heart,

the comforting and terrifying weight

of Motherhood.
Her fingers grasp and ungrasp,

searching for me.

Her piercing stare the doctors say

can only see mere inches

is unmoving against my eyes.

I am whole, and broken,

unimaginably joyous, and afraid;

I feel strong, but never weaker,

immeasurably full, yet palpably empty,

completely able, still incapable,

the enduring paradox

of Motherhood.
The days pass slowly,

filled with repeated moments,

painful and comfortable patterns

that melt into months of

Growth and Change

Written on doctor charts,

Piled in outgrown sleepers,

Punctuated in smiles and laughter,

Underlined in fear and worry,

The writing that feels unforgettable,

But can hardly be remembered

in the blur

of Motherhood.


All the things that used to make sense,

that used to have meaning,

that filled up the moments

of an already full life,

fade in old photographs,

whisper in memories,

shadowed behind the weight,

the hope and fear,

the wonder and pain,

the eclipsing love

of Motherhood.

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