Didn’t you know, girl, with the way it began,
that being a mom comes not quietly,
but hard crashes in?
I don’t imagine you knew.
How could you, child?
Motherhood’s loud, it’s messy, not mild.
Scant minutes of sleep
with spit on your gown.
“Why” questions flow with respite unfound.
You so often feel lost
in this trick love has played.
But you’re not misplaced, you are being remade.
It is not just in stillness where the sacred is found,
It’s in more than the good times
that you find holy ground.
When your own eyes are full,
yet you wipe away tears.
And your own broken voice soothes away fears.
When you don’t get to bathe
or comb your own hair,
but find time to love and a little more to share.
When one season ends
and another one starts,
and you feel quite alone with an oft broken heart.
It is then you know love
in its best, greatest form.
It was you, child, a mother, protecting from the storm.
Someday they’ll be grown,
And they will leave as they should.
And all of your memories will have grown into good.
Blessings-
Eric
