The more she grows into her person, the more fearful I am about having to teach her all the lessons. Will I be able to teach her ALL the lessons?What if I run out of time? What if she learns them without me? What if that isn’t the plan after all?

A mother is born, a mother is taught, a mother is imprinted upon with the rights and responsibilities for her offspring with no bounds. I was gifted more than one of these women that bore the rights and responsibilities of shaping me and growing me and loving me like no other. This is a story of my three mothers.

Now how do we define motherhood? A state of being a mother? What in the world does that mean? For now it’s a race against time, love fueled, persistence, perseverance and tolerance and acceptance of my inferiority to them on so many counts I secretly admit. But that is exactly what I want in this toil. I want them to be smarter than me, stronger than me, braver than me. I am a mother, that means I will observe them, stand by them and believe them and stand up for them no matter what. This is Motherdom.

How much of us are we to give before it diminishes all of that is our self? I decided not to work to give all my time to mothering, but holy cow, time does not equal me. It seems as though that time, like the definite shell of a car, is restricted to its quantity, but me, it seems is forced into rapid perpetual regeneration that though it tears my skin, it keeps stretching. My service defies time.

Upon completing my first draft, there were big phone celebrations and celebrations with my husband and daughters. I had completed my first draft despite a meltdown I had the month before. She saw me succumb to mental illness and bounce back to finish what I started.

People talk as if diaper shit is the shit, but let me tell you there is so much more in parenthood, the kind of shit you couldn’t have imagined. Just shit literal and not. There’s no preparation for what is in our future as parents.

Shit happens.