Instructions For Becoming a Mother
(And Nobody Else)
Wake before your body is ready.
Feed the baby.
Feed the silence.
Feed the despair.
Forget you were hungry to begin with.
-
Hold your baby close.
"Enjoy these moments, you'll miss them."
Hold them so close that you forget where your skin ends,
and theirs begins.
-
Count the diapers left on the shelf.
Count the minutes until they go to bed.
Count the pieces of yourself you lost.
Count the months since you last had a conversation about you.
-
Learn to answer to "Mom".
Learn to forget your own name.
Forget the woman you dreamed of being.
Forget the mirror;
you don't know her anyway.
-
Trade books and degrees for bottles and burp cloths.
Trade dreams and whimsy for grocery lists and summer camps.
Trade solitude for sleeplessness.
Trade sleep for safety.
-
Swallow the loneliness like cough syrup.
[Your purpose has been fulfilled.]
Smile at the PTA meetings.
[Such a good incubator.]
Cry in the car.
[Didn't you get everything you wanted?]
-
Wait until the children have grown.
Look in the mirror.
Whisper "I think I used to be somebody.
A self.
A woman."
Hope the echoes bring her back.
About the Creator
Autumn Stew
Words for the ones who survived the fire and stayed to name the ashes.
Where grief becomes ritual and language becomes light.
Survival is just the beginning.

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