Beginning Motherhood

The first time our eyes met,

My breath held tight,

I wore my heart on my sleeve,

As time took flight.

The evenings ahead were rough,

Daybreak gave no reprieve,

Yet it all felt so magical,

I’d stare at you in utter disbelief.

A creation of my very own,

Innocence ready to mold,

Nothing could’ve ever prepared me,

A fairytale yet untold.

Sleeplessness fueled with pride,

Filling me to the brim,

Squawking cries reverberating,

Soothed by my gentle hymn.

Sour milk breath smelling so sweet,

Nuzzling closer skin to skin,

Wonderment over this tiny miracle

Effervescence illuminating within.

With your arrival, though, time did gain wings,

Passing swiftly with a blink,

Ups and downs, milestones good and bad,

It goes too quick with our lives moving in sync.

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Blogger and Blog: Karen of Baking In A Tornado
Name of Poem: Motherhood
Blogger and Blog: Lydia of Cluttered Genius
Name of Poem: Mother’s Wish
Blogger and Blog: Dawn of Spatulas on Parade
Name of Poem: Motherhood Yo Yo
Blogger and Blog: Sarah of Not That Sarah Michelle
Name of Poem: Mother’s Day Poem: I Love You Mom

Baby Of Mine

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Soft and sweet you come climbing into my lap,
A fuzzy little ball of freshly spun wool.
Nuzzling against my chest with a gentle mewing purr,
Heart to heart, feeling every rising and falling swole.
A beam of the purest sunshine could never shine so warmly,
Sparkling with radiance, your light upon my darkened life.
A diamond of the highest quality could never be so treasured,
Your priceless value worth the pain of my strife.
Tiny little fingers on the smallest of hands take hold,
Wrapping around my giant finger tightly, so trusting.
Eyelids flutter as your milky breath sighs deeply with sleep,
Blissfully unaware of all but what for you’re fussing.
Hours tick by as the world whizzes past without so much as a glance,
Still we sit- quiet as mice, unmoving, not to disturb.
Enchanted, enthralled, enlightened by your sweet innocence,
Wanting to stay lost, captivated by your charming lure.
How can they allow me the pleasure of calling you one of my own,
When your perfection of beauty shatters perceptions.
Blessed by the stars to be chosen as the one you call mother,
I have loved you since the moment of your conception.
You are my baby.

Check out all the other Bloggers linked up for National Poetry Month with me!
Baking In A Tornado
Spatulas On Parade
Measurements of Merriment
The Bergham Chronicles
Not THAT Sarah Michelle

Don’t Tell Me To Go Hug My Kids Tight, Because I Don’t Want To

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What I am about to say probably won’t sit well with some of you. Some of you will even feel the need to immediately point out all the circumstances in which this could make me the worst person to ever walk this planet. (Ha! How I wish I would at least get rich selling out on everyone’s hatred of me after this!) Let me clear the air before we take this any farther-

I know! I know there’s others who would give their last breath for the opportunity. I know there’s others who long to know what it feels like at all. I know this could potentially be the very last time. None of those facts is relevant to the happenstance I’m delving into here. So, nice try, but I won’t be guilted or beguiled into dismissing my own, very valid feelings. With that being said….
 
Sometimes, I DO NOT WANT TO GO HUG MY BABIES TIGHT! Please don’t offer me those advising thoughts of comfort when I’m venting to you about how I’ve just had a really, particularly horrible, bad mood rising, kind of day. One which warrants a warning badge and implosion eminent disclaimer. I’m sorry, I’m not sorry.

Those four adoring, precious, and utterly beautiful, beast-like wild creatures capable of demonic level possession behaviors over anything and everything trivial are the last things I want to go hug.

No matter how deep the love one has for their children is rooted, no matter how far across the great divide one’s love stretches, and, no matter how long, or how short, the love between a mother and a child has existed, it is perfectly normal, and incredibly healthy, to need time, alone. Time alone to refresh the mind, body, and spirit. Especially, if you are a real, true-to-the-definition-of, introvert like myself. When I cannot make the time to do what’s necessary for my remaining sanity to stay intact, it’s easy for the kids glued to my nerves with the extra strength maternal superglue secreted the moment the cord was cut, to push me to the brink of self-implosion.

Chances are, those devilish imps, at the very least, just maybe…… slightly….. possibly…. probably… Okay! Okay! They are most definitely responsible for this Dolores Claiborne meets Freddy Krueger state of mind which I have found myself in a time or two or three dozen, over the course of motherhood. Days like these make me want to run away; far, far away, deep into the hills where I shall find a dark cave and live in hermit-like reclusiveness with only me, myself, and I, to live out the end of my days in peace and quiet!

These Blue Moon kind of days usually start off on an angrivated note. Life bears down on me with the same force exhibited due to the gravitational pull on a constipated elephant.

The kids will be extraordinarily ornery, and ready to battle to their inevitable groundment at the slightest inkling a No is about to be dropped from my mouth like the atomic bomb.

The boys, ages ten and eleven, will be at each other’s throats all day long, yearning for a taste of the other’s blood. Every time I turn around, one of them will be kicking, smacking, poking, prodding, or throwing something at his otherwise best friend, just because, only to be greatly offended when his punching bag punches back. My girls, ages 3½ and 7, will be doing their own feminine version of the sibling assault, complete with eardrum shattering shrieks, slamming doors, fingernail gouging, and hair-pulling. Putting all four hoodlums together with the expectation for them to share the air they breathe and enough space their personal bubbles interlace is like crossing some weird space/time barrier and finding your house right smack dab in the middle of battle during the Revolutionary War. You really do not want to go there.

During the course of this no-good, horribly rotten, wish-it-never-happened day, the youngest child will throw melodramatic tantrums over everything, anything, and nothing. Even when everything goes her way. In between her fits of toddler blasphemy, she’ll sneakily empty the refrigerator of all of the condiments, hide my wallet and car keys deep in the linen closet, and dump the entire contents of my bookcase, though her own, overflowing with much more durable children’s books, sits right beside it, to use as a makeshift hopscotch path. Her brothers will, in turn, choose to go on strike against The Motherhood Force. Refusing to budge from their beds until I begin implementing punishment by disconnecting the Wi-Fi, confiscating all their gadgets and chargers, and handing over the list of Attitude Adjusting Activities. Completing the entire list is required in order to earn back the stripped privileges. Undeterred by the war line drawn in unison against the rules and responsibility I stand for, however, they will continue opposition against the other. Refusing to fight on the same front, they lose sight of the main target, going back to trying to obliterate themselves into tenebrous oblivion, as they do. Meanwhile, my oldest of daughters will be going about doing what she does best: pot-stirring. Every chance she gets, she sticks her nose in business which isn’t hers, adding in her two cents whether it was asked for, or, not. She’s a master in provocation and perception, already, though she’s only just entering the second grade. Well, so she believes. The Motherhood Force knows better.

There’s no doubt to anyone who knows me, my kids are my entire world. For goodness sakes, I’m a sahm without a village, outside of my internet tribe, for any sort of support. It’s just me and my kiddos, twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, three hundred sixty five days a year. The fact of the matter is, I may never have experienced this I do not want to go hug my babies tight feeling necessary in order to write this, if my husband’s job allowed him to be home with his family in the evenings or to wake up with us in the mornings, instead of just going to bed for his “night”. Unfortunately, our life doesn’t fit the basic square mold, so it’s no wonder, my perspective doesn’t fit in one, either. It’s never my intention to reach this point. The after effects will linger in my brain for a few days like the poison from a bee’s stinger. It happens, though, and I’m not going to deny it or sugar coat it.

It is in this place, where I am so extremely exhausted mentally, it’s a painstaking chore to muddle through the day on autopilot, in which I reach this point and there’s no going back.

This, I do not want to look at those wickedly nefarious children, let alone hug them tight for even a brief second point.

My children will more than likely reciprocate those same sentiments towards me, just as well. Go ask them yourself the next time we’re having one of these “needs a do-over days”. If you can make it through the barricades they’ve built in their doorways to block the entry of anyone over four and a half feet tall- because, they do not want to be hugged tightly, held near, wrapped in love, snuggled closely, or smothered with anyone else’s emotional state.

I can’t blame them, because neither do I!

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By: Kristina Hammer, aka, The Angrivated Mom

My Daughter, You’re Now A Young Lady

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My daughter, you have grown right into a most beautiful young lady. Full of sparkling energy and the air of someone wiser than her years, you are, also, loaded with just a pinch too much sass. I envy you for that, actually. Even with my years, I still have a shadow of shy reservation following me, snubbing out my own twinkle, more often than not. It’s a wonderful combination that will do great things for you, if you continue to use those almighty powerful brains of yours. If you do, you’ll have a competitive edge in the game of life.

I can only hope that I will be able to fill my duties painstakingly, build you up to be the best You that you can ever be. I can see that shadow of mine trying to creep in, trying to dim your sparkle, when, instead, you could be shining under the spotlight. It is my resolve to give you the necessary tools you will need to shine bright without hesitation, learning how to hold back that shadow trying to creep in and  Your bucket of self-worth will be overflowing by the time I send you off to face the world alone. Every passing day it seems, that you go on and prove to me again and again, just how close that bucket is to being full already. For that, you should be ever so proud and feel pleased with yourself. So many girls in your generation will never know how much they are truly worth from the inside out. Those girls lack a mama who will enlighten them, teaching them to believe in the 6 B’s: Books Before Boys and Brains Before Beauty.

There’s a delicate softness inside of you, my dear child. Just underneath the superficial layer of ostentatious dramatics you wear with conviction, there’s an open-minded, warm-hearted, tenderness that draws people to you, like a magnet. Especially, those who need extra emotional TLC. This gift will take years for you to come to terms with and accept. It may feel like a curse right now while you are still so young and inexperienced, because your maturity and wisdom are rapidly developing, more than I’m ever ready for. The scope of your sophistication doesn’t reach beyond what is contained to your own childhood, unable to fully comprehend the needs of those that flock around you. One day, I do promise, your ability to nurture those in need, will eventually open your world up bigger than you’ve ever dreamt it could, before. I’ve never known a girl who loves to love just as much as I do. Once you cultivate and refine your sensitivity for the needs of others, your love will become explosive and limitless.

That softer side of you also hides a fierce, but, vehemently unseasoned protector of all those in her flock and family without hesitation or questioning. You’ll stand up for anyone under attack, ready to defend the goodness in everyone until your last breath, yet, you won’t hesitate to call someone out for a wrongdoing of their own. There’s something about you when you’re upset over a grave injustice which stirs up just enough crazy with your passion, that makes you a bit intimidating. It takes less than 3 seconds to send you into a tizzy that can cause hairs on my head to bypass gray and skip straight to 90 year old woman white. Yet, you will be the first one to befriend the enemy, calling a truce, making peace, and offering a helping hand so they don’t feel threatened by life any longer. Hugs flow aplenty when you’re around! Even your teacher says there’s never been such an overabundance of hugs from just one student in her First Grade classroom, before she had you for a student this year. When you cry, it comes straight from the depths of your heart, your sobs shaking the very foundation upon which our house lies. That nurturing nature you’re developing, is ready to lift up everyone who’s fallen down and hug away the pain, regardless of what happened to land them there. Many adults will never have that in them, yet you do so young still. That’s something that should make you feel spectacularly special, my love. Just like I do about you.

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Your childhood is over the halfway point now and it’s going to begin winding down now as you begin to inch closer towards your teenage years. In fact, I can already see the beginning signs of your coming maturation taking affect. It is increasingly important for you, now more than ever, to pay close attention to all the knowledge that I’m trying to teach you about the ways of this world. These lessons are irreplaceable and priceless in building up your confidence and self-esteem until they’re overflowing from your bucket, and they will be invaluable tools in coping with and solving the problems of the real world. For someone of your age, your intelligence level continually astonishes me and worries me about keeping your head on straight further on down the road. When your iron will is challenged, the facetiousness of your forthcoming argument keeps me on my toes, otherwise you’d be dancing across me wearing those two-inch heels and glamour girl makeup I specifically forbid from ending up on your body before you’re old enough to vote. These next few years are a time to take in everything I have to give you, so you’re fully prepared to take on the world one small baby step towards leaving the nest at a time.

My beautiful, beautiful girl. This mom cannot believe that you are that same newborn who was so content laying back and taking it all in. Where you once were happy with just being near your family, now you’re only content when the show revolves around you. It is my wish for you to stay this true to yourself throughout the rest of your life. Take all that I am giving you and follow your heart, the rest of life will fall into place on its own. Just don’t ever stop sharing your love, don’t close your heart or your mind, and don’t doubt these words I write to you. With all that you are, you can fight any good fight that comes your way, and rise above. Love yourself before you let others in to steal your heart away, or you’ll find yourself lost and empty feeling, looking for that love everywhere but within your own self. I know if you take heed, life will be a wondrous adventure for you and you’ll find the strength to make your dreams a reality.

The day you were born, changed my life forever. You, my sweet Baby Bean, brought a light into my world that altered my vision and dreams forever. You have given me a gift just by being here, being my daughter, and I’m so grateful and appreciative to have been chosen to receive that gift that is you. Know that I will always be here, your lighthouse in the harbor, guiding your way with the love for you that flows unconditionally, and once you ship off, setting sail for the freedom of your own course in life, you will always be able to turn home again, finding your way safely back to my open arms. I love you, my baby girl. My young lady. Be who you are meant to be- always more, but nothing less. At least, always remember the sing-song words you so often torture your brother’s with:

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