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Motherhood Quotes

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Motherhood Quotes

“Moms come in all shapes and sizes. There is no formula for the perfect mom. But there is one thing we all have in common - and that is the deep love we carry for our sons & daughters. Love takes many forms: It looks like a cuddle after a scraped knee. It looks like working two jobs to make ends meet. It looks like giving your last mouthful to your child who asks for a bite. It looks like sleepless nights with the kid who has a temperature. It looks like enforcing consequences for actions. It looks like a thousand packed lunchboxes. It looks like being your child’s biggest fan. It looks worn knees from praying and it looks like “I love you” said a million times. Mothers are the glue that holds a family together.”

“There would be, half a million things, I could do, yet I don’t know, what would be so? When I will see you, for the first time, calm, twined in your daddy’s arm, coming towards me, I could do, half a million things- caress your skin, fondle your chin, stroke though your limbs, smoothly touch your lips, and make my silent wishes, for your health and, your intellect. Half a million things, I could do, yet I don’t know, what would be so? When I will see you, for the first time, I could say, half a million things- call you my kid, read a fine script, whisper love in your ears, sing a hymn. Half a million things, I could say, yet I don’t know, what would be so? I fear though, what if I am unable to, do any of this, and all I end up with, is, just a knot of tears, loaded with, some of the most pure prayers, I have ever chaired. Half a million things, I could do and I could say, yet when it happens, little will my practice play. Half a million things, and I wouldn't know, how and where one begins.”

“My rugrats give me gifts that say "#1 Mom" on them and I'm like, bwhahahahaha, joke's on you, I'm more like the #1,297,279 Mom. But they truly think I'm the best mom on earth. And that's all that matters.”

“They hate me because I am the worst thing possible. I am the bad mother. But here's a secret: in America there are no good mothers. They simply don't exist. Always, there are a thousand ways to fail at this singularly important job. There are failures of the body and failures of the heart. The woman who is unable to breastfeed is a failure. The woman who screams for the epidural is a failure. The woman who picks up her child late knows from the teacher's cutting glance that she is a failure. The woman who shares her bed with her baby has failed. The woman who steels herself and puts on noise-canceling earphones to erase the screaming of her child the next room has failed just as spectacularly. They must all hang their heads in guilt and shame because they haven't done it perfectly, and motherhood is, if anything, the assumption of perfection.”

“Sometimes, she wondered what she was missing, if her life was somehow incomplete because she didn't see the reflection of her face in the face of a son or daughter. Maybe. That's what mothers told her: Oh, you don't know what you're missing; it's spiritual; I feel closer to the earth, to the creator of all things. Perhaps all of that was true--it must be true--but Grace also knew that mothering was work, was manual labor, and unpaid manual labor at that. She'd known too many women who'd vanished after childbirth; women whose hopes and fears had been pushed to the back of the family closet; women who'd magically been replaced by their children and their children's desires.”

“I'd wrestled against the inner voice of my mother, the voice of caution, of duty, of fear of the unknown, the voice that said the world was dangerous and safety was always the first measure and that often confused pleasure with danger, the mother who had, when I'd moved to the city, sent me clippings about young women who were raped and murdered there, who elaborated on obscure perils and injuries that had never happened to her all her life, and who feared mistakes even when the consequences were minor. Why go to Paradise when the dishes aren't done? What if the dirty dishes clamor more loudly than Paradise?”

“SHE holds the hand to help you in your First Step, She is your First Teacher, SHE holds your hand when You Fall Down, SHE is the one who guides you in Life, SHE hides you from all Trouble, SHE is sometime Mentor, SHE even nurses you when you Fall ill, SHE gives you the confidence, SHE never give False Appreciation, SHE is the one who will scold you the most on your mistake, She is the one who even Fight for you when you are right, SHE is the one who believes in you when others do not, SHE is the one who Loves you even if You don't love her, SHE is the one who gave you LIFE, Do You know Who is 'SHE'?? 'SHE' is Mother your own MOM...”

“One thing is certain: When the time has come, nothing which is man made will subsist. One day, all human accomplishments will be reduced to a pile of ashes. But every single child to whom a woman has given birth will live forever, for he has been given an immortal soul made to God's image and likeness. In this light, the assertion of de Beauvoir that 'women produce nothing' becomes particularly ludicrous.”

“Whilst writing all this, I have had in my mind a woman, whose strong and serious mind would not have failed to support me in these contentions. I lost her thirty years ago [I was a child then]--nevertheless, ever living in my memory, she follows me from age to age. She suffered with me in my poverty, and was not allowed to share my better fortune. When young, I made her sad, and now I cannot console her. I know not even where her bones are: I was too poor then to buy earth to bury her! And yet I owe her much. I feel deeply that I am the son of woman. Every instant, in my ideas and words [not to mention my features and gestures], I find again my mother in myself. It is my mother's blood which gives me the sympathy I feel for bygone ages, and the tender remembrance of all those who are now no more. What return then could I, who am myself advancing towards old age, make her for the many things I owe her? One, for which she would have thanked me--this protest in favour of women and mothers.”

“A mother's unconditional love isn't something you learn — it's something you feel. And yours? I've carried it with me like a second skin, always.”

“We’re more than borrowed titles, more than shadows wearing rings – we are roots of all survival, we are breath in everything. Why must love erase her surname, why must birth deny her throne – she is the one who forms existence, yet there’s nothing she can call her own! They said she came from a man’s rib, but truth runs deeper than toxic lies, the world itself is carved from woman, all of life is her grand design.”

“Sonnet of Breastfeeding From the breasts a world is fed, With their warmth society is raised. Yet we ignore their sacred place, Without breasts we'll all be erased. Woman's breasts are not objects, With or without a baby clinging. We may hail them means of pleasure, Only when the person is asking. Way more than triggers of romance, Breasts are symbolic of motherhood. A society that doesn't respect mothers, Will never ever attain humanhood. A world that is safe for mothers, Is safe for all beyond age and genders.”

“I never really wanted to be a professional; all I knew was that I wanted whatever I did to matter. I believe writing matters, of course, but nothing has ever felt more real to me than the work of caring. That energy and effort to maintain—ourselves, our loved ones, our community—has always felt substantial, true, visceral, and, yes, real to me. I don’t believe care work has to wreck us. This labor can be shared, social, collective—and transformative.”