Motherhood begins with a weaving, and a rending.
Our children--biologically or otherwise gleaned--represent a joining. We, as women, are joined with the fathers who helped us create them, enabling us to carry them in our wombs. Or, we are joined with other mothers, who carry them for us.
Our lives are joined with the lives of the children themselves.
They are verily woven into the fabric of our being. We suckle them. We carry them. We shelter them. We guide them.
And, in the instant of that woven beginning, there is a rending.
There is a dividing line between the existence we once knew, and the existence we will come to know.
There is a dividing line between living only for ourselves, and living fully for another.
Our prior selves are neatly cleaved from us, causing us to begin creating new selves--selves we may not ever again completely recognize as the ones we once knew.
We must undergo loss to realize gain.
This losing, and gaining, represents a pattern that will continue throughout our mothering.
My babies--now 18, 16 and 11--are my heart. They are my lifeblood.
They are the lifeblood of my mother, and her mother before that.
They are an embodiment of love: the love of their own parents, and countless generations preceding.
Today, I will celebrate this love with mothers around the globe.
Yet even while doing so, it remains clear that this celebration may never be limited to one day.
I celebrate the lives of my children with every breath I take.
I celebrate daily the weaving, and the rending, of motherhood.
Mothers Day 2012
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