The Writing Mamas Daily Blog

Each day on the Writing Mamas Daily Blog, a different member will write about mothering.

If you're a mom then you've said these words, you've made these observations and you've lived these situations - 24/7.

And for that, you are a goddess.

Friday, May 02, 2008



It's raining. Oh shit, its raining.

The kids painted croquet set is outside. I should go get it, but it’s dark and I'm tired and don't want to get out of bed. I don't want to do what I should.I feel the panic of one moment at Emily's birthday party today when we sang Happy Birthday.

I was fine during the party until we sang and blew out the candles. Just for a moment, my voice cracked and I looked at her. She was smiling, unsure of what we were doing, looking at the little bits of fire.

My body felt like it was melting into the floor, that pit of terror peeking open, remembering how close we were to not having this happen. And a rush of wanting to hide filled me like stepping on glass. I didn't want to turn and see all those kind people who love us and held us together when she was fighting for her life. I wanted to get away from the permanence of her heart condition.

I wanted to be alone and scream. This wanting to hide from a painful truth, is a silent part of most days. We moms are good at getting support, letting friends hold us, dealing by bonding. But I have a darker side in it, too, a childish rage full of deep loneliness where I stand on a different part of the river from my friends with healthy kids.

It’s a room without a door and very little light, no perspective or even compassion. Some of me is unhealed, tied to old places of mute aloneness and uncertain of the value of really agreeing to love another person.

In the black chill of this rainy night, after a raucous, bright party full of delightful people, I choose not to go rescue kids’ toys from the storm, not to seek comfort for myself, not to talk to my sweet, sweet husband. I am not the grownup who needs to be here to raise my child in the uncertainty in which we'll reside. I'm not that kind of mother. Is this one of the secret truths of motherhood? Even what we can't do, we do anyway?

My heart lives outside of me, tied to little beings who can't promise they will live to adulthood. And I have to stay, dragging the ugly parts of myself along.

By Avvy Mar


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I understand every word!
Still I try to live in now. We only have this moment. What is good now, take joy.
The future may not be as heartbreaking as we imagine??

Easy to say, Hard to do,
Ruth Scott
"ugly parts"?
You are tenderhearted, compassionate, and wise and I am so proud of you, and the mother you've become.

Missing you always, Colin
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