Motherhood

Motherhood is waking up 10 times last night.

It’s slobbery kisses on my eyes, nose, ears, and chin

while folding onesies with yellow milk stains along the trim.

 

Motherhood is rubbing a sore knee to ‘sana sana colita de rana.’

It’s wiping marker stained hands and the scribbles along the hallway walls.

And all other walls, walls, walls.

 

Motherhood is hearing “momma” for the first time then 100 times in 10 seconds.

It’s exclusive invites to tea parties with Mr. Beary, Fifi, and Baboo,

followed by “this little piggy went to the market” at nightly cuddles.

 

Motherhood is holding tiny hands and watching them outgrow mine.

It’s ice cream outings and stick figure drawings of me, you and buzz lightyear,

and chocolate oozing down that new shirt from the rear view mirror.

 

Motherhood is sweatpants, messy buns, coffee and lost pacies.

It’s sandwiches without mustard, tomatoes, lettuce, cheese, and turkey,

Runny noses, bubble baths, and lego crunching feet.

 

Motherhood is about Target tantrums, candy bribing and those glares and more glares.

It is about chubby fingers peeking under doors during bathroom visits,

ninja duck tuck and roll past the sleeping babe that fidgets

 

Motherhood is about hide-n-go-seek and warm milk in a bottle or breast.

It’s that fullness in your chest as your heart grows with with each new word and giggle.

It’s I’d love to stay and write some more, but there’s a pouty belly that needs a tickle.