Don't Cry, Mom

Don't Cry, Mom

Funny thing about being a mom: Some of it's not that funny.

Don't get me wrong: A lot of it is joyous, glorious, fulfilling.

Even when you're sleep deprived, at the fraying end of your rope, wishing you'd had your tubes tied when you were eleven, one look at those tiny, precious faces and somehow it's okay.

You have your babies, get to call yourself Mom.

Don't Cry, Mom

Then they start doing shit. You gotta start kissing boo-boos.

They have to get immunized. They don't like it. Sometimes you have to help the nurse keep them still, hold them down. All for their own good.

You tell yourself, Don't cry, Mom.

They get pushed off the swing by the little prick next door. Even though their pride is what gets hurt the most, their lip trembles, their eyes fill. They never want to go to the playground again.

Don't cry, Mom.

They get bit by a dog. Have to have stitches. They hold up pretty well; you're a wreck.

The doctor says, "Don't cry, Mom."

They score the winning point, they hit home runs, they get the starring role in the school play.

Don't cry, Mom.

They get dumped by the loser you hoped would dump them. They're devastated. You know it's for the best, you wished for it, dreamt of it. But their heart is broken.

Don't cry, Mom.

Then the worst. They grow up, marry, start having babies of their own. By some cruel twist they want you in the delivery room. It's the most painful labor you've ever had.

Don't cry, Mom.

Then there are more babies. You don't think they need more. You're not that thrilled even though the first baby is among the finest specimens ever born and your love for them knows no bounds. But they insist and before you know it, between them all, they've got six all together.

You didn't ask for them, but you've gotta see them.

It's love at first sight.

Don't cry, Mom.

Then one of your grown up babies calls to talk about her baby. The one who's spent 3/4 of her six year life struggling with a still unnamed, Cerebral Palsy like illness. The one who just broke her finger because she can't walk without a walker. And even then...

She says they think something is wrong with her baby's bones, the break is odd. She needs one more specialist. She will probably have to use a wheelchair now.

The air sucks out of your chest. Your fingers grip your phone so hard they might break. Your heart beats so loud you almost don't hear her say -- Don't cry, Mom.

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