I have been reflecting on the kind of mother I have become since the birth of the boys: decidedly different. The number of children born into our family 10 weeks ago has necessitated a busier, more multi-tasking, less present mother than I ever was with my daughter. These thoughts were not coming together in prose; a style departure is in order.
The day you emerged from me, you were pulled away.
Your tiny bodies were not laid on my breast.
I mothered you through thick plastic and
Hated the leaving of you in a place not your home.
Your three new lives broke me open into four pieces,
Each piece regenerating and growing stronger.
I am one mother moving in many directions, all at once.
I am less able to hold each of you, but able to hold more of you each day.
You hear my voice singing to you less, but hear me soothing your brothers constantly.
Does that soothe you too?
I am spread too thinly now, but wider, longer too.
Like spilled milk, vast and white, smoothing out the rough edges.
You, my three glorious boys have but one mother to nourish and nurture you
Whose body makes your milk yet cannot feed all of you at once.
I hope when your tiny hands touch, you draw comfort from each other and
You understand that I wish I could always hold you, always feed you, just us.
I learn from you each day how to make each moment, each interaction
Thick and warm and sustaining.
I am different this time, not ideal, but perfect for us, I hope.
You three are perfect for me.
Are you a different mother than you'd imagined? Are you still trying to become a parent? What is your ideal role? Do you have peace about your mothering?