Happy Mother’s Day to all moms and Mr. Moms. The line moves to those struggling with infertility; may it be your turn soonest. Motherhood is a plotless narrative of self in its bid to replicate itself. For me, the twists and turns of the parenting odyssey present an endless labyrinth of pathos and triumph. I am a proud son of a stern working mother, and I was over the moon when I witnessed rural and urban hardworking mothers struggling for a decent and dignified living for their families. I took an imaginary trip to Mars the first time I saw hardworking mothers riding bicycles daily, fetching firewood and water for a decent living, and putting food on the table.
My epistolary confessions are borne out of pride and relentless self-doubt; seeing hardworking mothers struggling? Should I listen to the adoring crowd of cheerleaders who see some helicopter mothers and mothers riding bicycles fetching firewood and water as SUPER MOMs giving it all? I hope every mother is all good a mother. Happy Mothers Day to all young mothers, the birth of a child means a new life, a new demand, and a new shift. Motherhood means an unselfish obligation to tend, even with your eyes closed. Having a child commands you; it summons you to duty calls. It drains you.
Motherhood licenses you to a crying child, a hungry mouth, forces you into required courses of “how-to,” and wracks your brain with questions to which you cannot find answers. Everyone else seems just as clueless or smartly stupid. Motherhood sentences you to pure tedium, frustrating nights placating howling heaven may fall creature whose only care is; their own need. Motherhood metamorphoses you into a taskmaster, a rule ruler. Mother’s Day brings out existence’s spatial and temporal metaphors. It reminds mothers of the degree to which mothers correspond. That they are an irrefutable scion of our parents, shaped by our upbringing and by the environment, immutably beyond our ability to control.
Who birthed us and the environment we grew up in inform our humanity’s layers. It shapes the further layers and skin peeling to expose the bones and tendons. Some mothers are built on solid ground, some on ashes, some on tangled metal, and some on cheap, unstable flooring. Their foundations are their inner reference points, and those points reinforce the immutability of their past. Happy mother’s Day and all of you hardworking mothers are trying to be the best mum has given the challenges of our time and all the broken-hearted who are trying to conceive.
Soon you will have your turn, and your pain will be history. You will have your joy, touch it, see it, hold it, have it with you, and love and cherish it. May our wards turn out better than our best efforts! Thanks, mum, for giving up so much to mold us. Keep working at it if you have a child taking too long to bake for all mums. Modify the temperature, pray, and try novel things, you may want bread and end up with a cake or a sconce, but you will not have a dough on your hands. My daughter, my treasure, my gem, I bless that snowy night you came into our lives and made me a proud parent. You are a gift that kept giving. I love you to bits!. Happy Mothers Day.
