They call us Mom, Stepmom, Auntie, Grandma, Sister, Friend. They call use many things. We are the women that care for our children, your children. We are the women that birthed them, adopted them, raised them. We are the women that stayed up late at night because they were sick. We are the women that nursed the boo-boos and broken hearts. We checked for monsters under the bed and terrors in the closet. They run to us in when they are afraid. They run to us when they are hurt. They run to us when they are happy.
We are the women that build up confidence. We show the stars and tell them to aim beyond. We are the women that provide common sense when “it seemed like a good idea at the time”. We are the bake sale warriors, recital recorders, last minute seamstresses, homework helpers. We are the backup singers, and silly face makers. Toy doctors, way makers, love givers, tantrum takers and story tellers.
We are chefs. We are maids. We are teachers. We are structure. We are spontaneity. We work together and alone. We are the women that will never abandon them. We are their village.
My child, your child, our child.
They call us many things. But they all mean the same. By any other name we would still be called love.
A post I read earlier this week had me thinking about love. Granted, she was referring to romantic love, but love is love and this is were the discussion took me.