mothering sunday creed

I believe in mothers.
I believe in mothers who watched the appearance of the thin blue line with longing.
I believe in mothers who watched for it with dread.
I believe in mothers whose hair became thick and sumptuous.
I believe in mothers whose hair fell out.
I believe in mothers who wore jeans till week 30.
I believe in mothers who never wore jeans again.
I believe in mothers who had a birthing pool in the basement with candles and mood music.
I believe in mothers who yelled for needles.

I believe in mothers who were instantly besotted with every movement of his tiny eyelid.
I believe in mothers who felt numb till the little monster got up and walked out the room.
I believe in mothers who kept their head during potty training (and their carpets).
I believe in mothers who accidentally flushed a pair of very small soiled pants down a neighbour’s toilet, and said nothing.
I believe in mothers who researched the league tables of at least five nurseries and purchased simple addition workbooks just in case.
I believe in mothers who didn’t know what the word aspiration even meant.

I believe in mothers who returned to work, suspended work, worked for less, worked part time, worked unpaid, changed jobs, worked from home, lost a decade’s income, re-trained, looked after other people’s children so other women could return to work, change jobs, work part time, etc.
(And who still kept sane when ‘experts’ devoted column inches to the question of whether women could have it all/not have it all – delete as appropriate).
I believe in mothers who cried when their youngest finally started school.
And in those who cried for joy…

I believe in mothers who nearly hired a secretary to keep up with all the paperwork for their children’s extra-curricular activities.
I believe in mothers who missed meals to facilitate Brownies/Cubs/Scout camps/hikes (please make sure your child has a compass and a 20 pence piece in case of emergencies).

I believe in mothers who consulted maps to find obscure village halls for ballet exams (please arrive at least one hour early for the hair nets); drum exams (NB: hopefully you have moved to a house with a sound proof annexe) or football matches (we try to be fair, but your son will only be on for the final 6 minutes of the match which you will have driven 15 miles to watch in the freezing cold, and the other side will have much bigger boys and their coach will invariably be a crazed NUTTER).

I believe in mothers who guiltily stuffed a five pound note into a hastily bought card for yet another birthday friend.
I believe in mothers who mopped up tears because their child had the worst ‘best friend’ in the entire world, and who felt their heart breaking a little bit more each time.
I believe in mothers who facilitated 3D models of the Parthenon and modified sheets to provide outfits for Hallowe’en/World Book Day/class assembly (delete as appropriate).
I believe in mothers who became accidental experts on Spanish verbs, the Civil Rights Movement and asexual reproduction in plants.

I believe in mothers who woke up with butterflies on results day.
I believe in mothers who became anxious about things they’d never thought of before.
I believe in mothers who avoided news stories about statistics on student alcohol consumption/debt/depression/rape/unemployment.

I believe in mothers who tidied empty bedrooms at home for no apparent reason.
I believe in mothers who retained a dim memory of the sofa as somewhere to sit and relax.
I believe in mothers who carried on cooking too much food when it wasn’t needed any more.
And then not enough when it suddenly was.
I believe in mothers who imagined becoming grandmothers.
I believe in mothers who cared for their mothers while worrying about their daughters becoming mothers.

I believe in mothers who lost mothers.
I believe in mothers who lost daughters or sons.
I believe in mothers who unsuccessfully prayed to be mothers.
I believe in mothers who mothered children who had lost a mother.

I believe in mothers who were everyone else’s mother except an actual one themselves.

I believe in accidental mothers.
I believe in older mothers.
I believe in teenage mothers.
I believe in the mother of God.
I believe in God as mother.
I believe in myself as mother.

I believe in mothers.

 

3 Comments Add yours

  1. Liz says:

    Pity you couldnt include mothers by adoption. Stayed hopeful all the way through then disapointed!!

    Like

    1. Sad to hear that. x

      Like

  2. Rachael says:

    Thank you. For believing in Mothers. God knows, we need someone to believe in us.
    With love, Rachaelx

    Like

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