What if each person was an individual in this world?
And what if each individual person started out as an individual baby?
Each child is distinct and perfect and unique in his or her own way.
Isn’t this what we desperately plead with the stars?
Then why is it such a stretch that each parent (who used to be babies by the way) is distinct and perfect and unique in his or her own way?
What if your child, with all of his weaknesses and strengths, was wonderfully and purposefully woven together in YOUR womb (with all your weaknesses and strengths) for a reason?
I am tired and sick and sick and tired of being a parent at days.
But please. Just please don’t make me waste extra effort on you.
Pick ME up, don’t set me down. Encourage me. Tell me my kids are wonderful miracles (because they’re looking like tiny dictators to me right now).
And please know. Making me, the mother of my children, smaller in your mind will not only make you no less big, but hurts ALL OF US MOTHERS.
I do not want to hear about rape culture and feminism and earning 30% less than men when you can’t even look me in the eye.
Keep your conversations about me as pillow talk in the dark.
Don’t bring them to playdates and birthday parties and organic gluten free recycle parties.
And while I’m at it, stop defining yourself off of how you are perceived .You need only answer to ONE PERCEPTION: that of the incredible gasp of air that flickers in your living room (and in your bedroom, and back into the living room) for this moment.
Being a mother is already a war. Don’t make me fight it alone.
We are TOGETHER raising the future doctors and missionaries and teachers and presidents of this world.
We are TOGETHER raising the future parents of this world.
And the fact that you and I are different? That we parent different? That we have different children?
Well, it’s because we were both once wrapped in beautiful linens and rocked back and forth under the stars and above the creaking two am hardwood floors. Different children in different arms under the same God, for different purposes: for raising different children, in our different arms.
This mothers day let's celebrate that there are different kinds of mothers for different kinds of children; of people.
We are all beautiful, like our children.
Our beauty will never fade under cutting remarks or layers of cereal crumbs.
I vow this mothers day to refuse to let the lies of social media or the playgroup bench define who I am as a mother.
I hope you'll do the same. But if you don't, out of exhaustion or sweat or tears, I hope another mother is there to pick you up.
We have so much more to give.