mother.

mother.

i don’t know if anyone would choose to be a mother if they really knew what they were in for. it’s not unlike choosing to be a human canon ball because you like to travel. initially it sounds great--until you’re sent hurtling through the air into an unknown and unseen future. once launched--it’s almost impossible to decide to stop. too much monumentum. too many eyes on you--watching. i would be a terrible mother. patience. unwavering attention. endless thankless moments. being seen as the eternal bottomless well of solutions, praise, hope and acceptance. sounds dreary. in it however there must be something addicting because even some of the less admirable mothers i’ve known manage to hang in there if not wholly then in part. the connection they have to their children is unbreakable, mysterious, acknowledged yet always pressed to the very edge of sanity. i would be a terrible mother. more neely o’hara than mrs. miniver.

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