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.