Being A Mother – A Short Prose

I love my kids.

I love their laughter and their voices, their thousand little questions about anything and everything.

I love the smell of their bodies and the touch of those little hands, the thousand kisses and the big bear hugs.

I love how they love everything I do for them — make a craft or read a story, massage their heads or bake an apple pie.

I love how they trust me to fix anything and everything — an aching ankle or the bad dream, a bad day in school or a broken toy.

I love how they think I’m always right — be it a disagreement or an argument, a fun war of words or a real quarrel with their dad.

I love how they awakened the emotions — raw and deep and sharp, I never knew existed inside me. I love how they were part of my body once, and still connected to my soul.

I love how they taught me the meaning of selfless love and putting others first.

And most of all, I love how they gave birth to a new me; a Mother who was never there before, and how they taught ‘that new me’ to stop judging my Mom and Dad and recognize their selfless love.

Note: I wrote this one years ago when the kids were still very little and depended on me for everything.