Motherhood. A job title that requires no degree, a lifestyle that graces rich and poor alike. Wanted or unwanted, planned or unplanned, somehow motherhood in all of its complexity
simply
happens. 

Every day is a mental marathon, every activity a juggle for survival. Sanity becomes an optional commodity.

For most it requires weeks of sickness, months of terrible discomfort, hours or even days of torrential, physical agony and that is just to birth this brand new soul. For now commences a thousand sleepless nights and a lifetime of worry. Every day is a mental marathon, every activity a juggle for survival. Sanity becomes an optional commodity.

Motherhood. The most secure of all job titles, for she will never be fired from it; but her salary becomes the deepest insecurity known to mankind of imminent failure. Motherhood feels like a world of judges with no jury, the verdict remaining guilty until proven innocent. It feels tiring and thankless but then she looks into the eyes of her child and every single teardrop of agony is but a tiny price to pay for this love she could have never prepared herself for. 

Motherhood. It's raw and it's real and it's filthier than she ever expected it to be. But it's a beautiful mess.

Her beautiful mess.

She will die a thousand deaths for the wildly beautiful privilege of being her child's mother. She will never question if it was all worth it, for this small human in her keeping finds a way to prove to her every single day that she never even lived before he existed.

Yes, she will go on to question every decision, every activity, every harsh word that manages to escape her lips, and she will wonder every single day if she is screwing it all up. But at the end of the day when she kisses those cherub cheeks goodnight, she counts herself the most blessed woman on the planet. And she will wake up to do it all again tomorrow.

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