In a moment like this my anger becomes a mist and all I can see is the bright light in your eyes. You're telling me something. Something special to you. I try to listen to make it special to me. I am told these years go by quickly, yet everyday is long.
In a moment like this my frustration is no longer tangible. Your laughter, so full of love and light, shames my worry and I become silent. I am told to enjoy my children, yet I feel as though I am always angry.
In a moment like this I don't feel quite so tired anymore. Your eyes stare into mine, eyes full of trust and need. The smell of your head calms my heart and I relax.
I hold you, you look at me. I smile yet my eyes wander to the outside. I see people, rushing, cars, in a hurry. The world is going, leaving, never staying. Am I missing something? I sit here, staying. Will I resent you?
Just last night I yelled at God about Him making me a mother. It's so hard, God. I hate it. Everyday is the same. Every night I am tired.
Yet in a moment like this I hardly remember, hardly remember when the wheel was so low. You are telling me something special again. The wheel is lifting. Will I get to the top? You laugh and tell me you love me. I feel wretched for yelling at you, but the guilt subsides as you grab my hand and say “up please.”
Your arms around my neck, my face in your shoulder, I feel grateful. Grateful to God for making me a Mother. Right now anyway.
-An Anonymous Mother
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