this is mothering 🌸💜💪🏾

not for the faint of heart, that's for damn sure

My love to all of the moms (and grammas and tias and fur mamas and genderqueer parents and substitute moms) out there and to everyone for whom today really sucks. I love you.

me & my two

This is mothering; the heart-split that makes you brave, that spills your guts, that disappears your skin. I spent every adult moment before I became a parent wanting to be one, but nothing prepared me for the surprise of my own ferocity, a capability only grief had previously unearthed and which grows stronger with every year my children walk this Earth.

This is mothering; the mind-bending love that shows you the limits we impose on our hearts are so arbitrary, that any child could be yours. And we were all children once and how vulnerable and raw we are still, no matter the age. The compassion; the humility (in the form of phone calls to my mom to thank her for not throttling me when I now know she must have wanted to); the desire to be worthy of this work that is so crucial and which you desperately want to be good enough for.

I learned from the best

This is mothering; the sound of the phrase “my kids” after a bonus child is added to your life, the way it feels completely right rolling off of your tongue. Dancing in line at the ice cream shop, embarrassing the pre-teen, then singing along with them both to Kendrick in the car. Not being able to fix what feels unfair and impossibly hard, just showing up to love the imperfectly each morning and then the next.

This is mothering; Googling “games you can play with your toddler while lying down,” the way my breasts still ache when I hear any baby’s cry, wondering if I’m pushing her too much or not enough, the jigsaw puzzle that is the summer calendar and why are there SO many end-of-the-school year thing? Watching Tik Tok videos you don’t understand. Setting up a Snapchat account because it’s the only way he communicates. Refusing to bail them out when they’ve screwed up. Apologizing when you do.

This is mothering; my best friend’s daughter told me about her first crush. I stop a new mom in a coffee shop, infant strapped to her chest, and tell her she’s doing a fucking great job. My girlfriend has soup delivered when I am sick. I feel my father’s presence when I am about to run out of patience. My beautiful adult son tells me he’s proud of me. At church, my priest anoints every set of hands in the room and we speak of Jesus’ Mama Bear energy in the day’s passage from John, strategize about how to feed & comfort the elders in our neighborhood.

This is mothering; gratitude rendering me pliable, less likely to judge. This is mothering; rage at the world’s injustice deep inside my gut. This is mothering; a million Post-It note lists and blowing it all off to snuggle. This is mothering; antennae that bend toward the ones I love, checking in, touching base.

No child will ever come from my womb, but I know mothering and so do you. The privilege of living with your heart broken-open. Giving a damn about the collective good. Offering tenderness because you can, when you can. Carrying 3000 things in your purse.

I’ll take it, every bit, and maybe a nap, too.

xoxo

Nishta