If not sugar and spice; what IS a mother made of?

What makes me a mother?

I ponder the question while steaming broccoli and stirring noodles. It’s date night, but first we must get our little guy dinner, a bath, and to bed.

What is that one thing, that universal truth, that changes a woman into a mother?

I am suddenly aware of the soft, loose skin that has taken up residence on what used to be a mostly firm belly. Is this, the evidence that a baby once snuggled inside me, it? Or maybe the silvery stretchmarks that cut a jagged pattern up my naval, forever separating me from the smooth, even-skinned women who’ve never carried a watermelon baby in their womb?

My pondering is interrupted by CJ, who runs into the kitchen demanding juice. His cheeks are pink from a long day in the sun, and I find myself worrying even while I know it’s without cause

Is this it? The worry? The intense longing to ensure the complete safety and happiness of one that I love so much? I run my fingers through his soft hair, finding the sticky spot where he rubbed his jammy fingers at lunch. I lean in, inhaling his warm sweet smell, and wrapping his wriggly body in a quick hug. “Mo-om!” he protests, and his voice is more familiar to me than my own.

Perhaps this is what makes a mother, the complete and total adoration of another; not just of how they look or act but their smell, their feel, their fears… their total being.

What makes a mother?

I feel that the answer is close, but elusive. The bubble that pops each time I reach for it; the butterfly that flutters just out of reach. It’s there, but… I can’t get a hold of it.

I turn to what I know, hoping to find the answer in the familiar. I know that having a child forever changed me. I know that I am more patient, more reasonable, more content. I know that I have more empathy, and I even think, more wisdom. Where did these things come from? What changed me?

I remember the first night in the hospital. The tiny warm breathing baby snuggled beside me. Unfamiliar, yet exquisitely dear. The tingling that coursed through my body when his little red hand wrapped around my finger, when his big eyes opened to take in the world. The sense of overwhelming responsibility, of helplessness, of fear, of fierce loyalty and the knowledge that I would do anything for this little creature.

I think perhaps this is what makes a mother.

Human love typically has limits. If left in isolation, if not fed and nurtured, if mistreated or made light of, it can slowly fade and die. A million marriages break apart because two people who once felt passionate love, no longer do. Children leave home, never to look back. Siblings fight and lose contact. Best friends fall out of touch.

A mother’s love is different. It is unwavering. It needs nothing in return. It is the purest, deepest, truest form of love. It makes us weak, even while it makes us strong. It makes us happy, and it causes us immeasurable anguish.

A mother’s love is different. A mother loves totally and completely, no matter what. This is what sets her apart. This is what makes her a mother.

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What makes you a mother? Write all about it for a chance to win a cool prize!

In honor of Mother’s Day and inspired by LightIris founder and dad Kevin who has been wearing a Preggo Suit all month long.

To enter, write about what makes you a mother, and then email the link to your post to parentbloggers@gmail.com. Make sure to link to Parentbloggers as well as Light Iris (a new exciting site for moms launching on Mother’s Day!).

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