I don’t know if I’m doing this right, but I would describe motherhood as being exhausted and in love – all the time. And I’ve always have a questionable relationship with time, but now I see it even more as an abstract concept. My child is growing, hesarta mashala, and my parents are, I don’t want to use the word withering, but their bodies are not able to keep up with the love and spirit they still have.
EDIT: I wrote this in April and never published it, because it was incomplete. But I’m publishing now (August) and picking a random April date to publish it.
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