There is something special about being a mother. Something that is hard to describe in words because it is a floating feeling, something that exists and yet is intangible. Like love. There are millions of poems about love and each of them is beautiful on its own but does it really desribe love? Or maybe it paints one aspect of it only. The same is with mothehood. It can be described but each day a new facet is shining its light as we gaze at it from up close and we realize that all we know is not really all. Being a woman and a mother is an ever changing spectacle of roles, costumes and the audience may not be forgiving. But looking at it from an angle of a person being emotionally invested in her children, it is the most flabbergasting and wondrous experience.
As I am watching my daughters growing up and developing their own personalities, I find it awe-inspiring to be in a role of an observer, especially that I get a first seat in the house. I am aware it is very appealing mostly to me because they are my daughters. But this must be something all parents cherish, that window into your children’s everchanging world. When I see my seven year old’s face, I am still able to discern a newborn baby in her features. Yes, she is the very same person that used to weight only eight pounds and I had been able to carry everywhere on me. Now, I am hardly able to lift her. She is a part of me but at the same time she is her own person, a classic dichotomy.
We mothers shape our children, we have the most prevalent voice in making of who they are. And yet, if we give them freedom to discover who they truly are, they will . To me, it is the caleidoscope of their personae, the new roles they are undertaking, new aspects of their being that are so delighting. Very often at night, before I fall asleep, I marvel at all possibilities these young persons have in front of themselves. How wonderful!