We have no word for women who used to be Mothers… women whose children have died or been taken away, been given up for adoption or lost in divorce.
I was a Mother, though I never gave birth. How many video games and after-school snacks and late-night, tucking-in conversations qualifies one for motherhood? The little man didn’t care. He called me Mom and I was a Mother.
I was a Mother. I touched the sweet, soft skin of his cheek and watched him sleep at night. I picked up his wet towels and laughed with him at the dog’s antics. I helped him fold his clothes and taught him to tie his shoes. We went to the park together.
He taught me that I am softer underneath than anyone imagines, that I can be full of nonsense when no one else is watching, and that frequent hugs are very, very important. We decided, he and I, that a little sugary cereal never killed anyone.
I was a Mother who loved a little too closely, stifled him, made him angry now and then. But he knew I loved him.
I was a Mother with too many rules. “Don’t do this,” and “Let’s stay over this way.” “It’s better like that,” and “How about you try that this way…?”
I was a Mother.
What does that make me now?
