Everyone has a mom, alive, dead, present, simply not there… originally… we all came down the same chute.
Whether you’re the closest of close with your mom, or if she was just a donor that gave birth to you, somewhere, there was a womb with you in it.
A womb that belonged to a woman, with hopes, dreams, sorrows, and nightmares alike. A woman who sat singing to her swollen belly, rubbing it with a loving caress whilst daydreaming about the child inside her. Every one of those women has found herself simultaneously feeling the proud and full feeling of womanhood, and the familiar pleasure of a child holding her favorite toy… And she imagined a face, hair, toes, smiles, hands, a boy, a girl, a man , a woman, a life, a husband, a grandchild… An infinity of possibilities wrapped in a single moment of motherly daydreaming.
Then when we came, the harsh reality of our need… Our constant attention… Our unconditional love. Through simply being who we are and growing up the best we can, makes our mothers love us all the more. Our giggles, our cries, our diapers, our first steps, our first words… The first time we cut a lamp cord with a pair of metal scissors, or fall of our skateboards and take the skin off our legs.. All of these moments ad up to one of the greatest forces in the universe, the love of a mother and for child…
Whatever happens along the way, they love us, grease, grime, and all. They guide us, teach us, smother us, worry about us, and look forward to the day when their baby can hold its own child as proudly as they remember holding us…
Let us not forget also, the women who are forced to parent from behind a pane of glass the children create… the moms who slave, toil, cook, clean, and take care of not only their inherited children, but their immature fathers as well… we hold our deepest appreciation… The few, the proud, the strong nation of step-moms out there who selflessly work their fingers, patience, and dignity to the bone in the name of love, without a shred of acknowledgment from the very kids they work to keep in clothes, food, shelter, and love. All the while the kids’ love is always reserved for that ideal they were implanted with at birth, those rose-colored glasses they wear for their biological womb-donors…
So to my mom(s), your mom, and all the moms and step-moms:
TOOMBLOG 