I’ve already posted this, I know. Just can’t read a calendar. Mother’s Day is THIS weekend, not last. Posting it again. Have a blessed Mother’s Day, all you moms out there.
Since I am only a son, grandson, great-grandson, father and grandfather [no “greats” there, yet], I don’t know that I’m particularly qualified to write about being a mother. But I’ll do my best.
A young woman once apologetically told me that she didn’t work outside the home, that she was “just a mother.” At once, I told her that no woman is ever “just a mother.”
A mother is the first, and perhaps the most important, part of a baby’s life. One of the very first things he or she must be conscious of is the nearby heartbeat of that one whose very body is involved in nurturing and protecting this new life within it. Lub-dub, lub-dub, lub-dub. The rhythm of life. For nine months, that sound is the background of existence, the assurance that all is normal.
Then comes the trauma of birth – for both the mother…
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