My adventures in pregnancy, motherhood and beyond

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Tuesday, December 3, 2013

This Poem is AMAZING

A sorority sister of mine wrote a poem about motherhood and it is so amazing that I have to share it with you all.

I swear, even after reading and rereading it dozens of times, it brings tears to my eyes because it is so true.

Sometimes, when your baby has been screaming and irritable and almost bitten your finger off or pulled your hair out, it's hard to remember what an amazing blessing you have. Sometimes, when you just want to relax or go out to a movie without phoning twelve different people to babysit, it's hard to see just how wonderful being a mother is. Most won't admit to this, but I think that we've all felt that way. Whether it's realizing that your stomach will never look the same again, or trying to chase down that phantom poop smell, motherhood is hard and a HUGE change, no matter how prepared you think you are. BUT, and this is a MAJOR BUT, despite all the things that aren't picture perfect, it's amazing. Having your babe crawl into your lap just to be with you, getting those messy open-mouthed kisses, hearing them call your name or giggle when you make funny faces at them, even just watching them knock over the blocks you've built up at least 24's amazing. It melts your heart. There's nothing like it in the world. You think you know, you think you're prepared for it. YOU'RE NOT. It's SO MUCH BETTER, even the stuff that's difficult. Especially the stuff that's difficult.

And that's what this poem is. It's perfect. Here's the link for the original:

And here's the poem itself.

"If My Name Wasn’t Mama"

My fridge would be full of Chardonnay, not apple juice
My Google search history would be “shoe sales,”
Not “why is my baby pooping out full blueberries”
I would never have to know what oral thrush was
I’d eat more entree salads and a lot less half frozen chicken nuggets
Sleeping in on the weekends would be followed up with breakfast in bed
I wouldn’t have to use the hem of my shirt to wipe a runny nose in a rush
Or question the mysterious brown stain on my new work slacks
My car keys would never be found in the toy box after already running 20 minutes late
Phone calls  would last longer than 60 seconds
And my breasts would still hang where they should

I wouldn’t know the feeling of sweet-smelling baby breath on my neck
His hand wouldn’t reach out for mine when he meets someone new
The sun wouldn’t shine from the lilt in his laughter
I couldn’t listen to him talk to himself in his sleep and
No more 2am warm hugs after a bad dream woke him
I would not be able to whisper-sing “Hey Jude” into the blonde wisps of his hair
Or teach him what trees are or what sound a cat makes
I wouldn’t know the depths of his hazel eyes or the curve of his smile
Someone else would be called “Mama”
He wouldn’t be my little boy

If my name wasn’t Mama, I don’t think I’d like it very much

By Danielle Donaldson, posted on tumblr 10/4/13
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