Are you a mother?

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Have you ever wondered about your fear of death, when the only thing you have always been petrified about is your child digging into that forbidden closet or the bathroom cupboard to find out the secret stash of “things”?

Have you ever looked down on the bathroom floor to see two drops of blood, and in one sentence thought of today’s date, your ovulation cycle and the color of the undergarment you wore that morning only to discover your toddler bleeding from his ankle in the living room?

Have you ever found yourself obsessing about the time you were going to miss your child’s first tooth fall, his first step just because you blinked, knowing very well that you will never be there for the first time he will kiss his girlfriend or have sex with her?

Have you ever patted yourself on the back for your uncanny ability to phantom measure all the mommy tummies in a potluck party that you attended and realize that yours was not so bad after all? 

Have you ever taken so many pictures of the kids on your phone in just one particular pose that the only one that is not blurry is the one that seems to suggest that they hate you?

Have you ever wanted to beat the crap out of the kids to make them go to bed early but restrained yourself at the thought of Karma in the form of them beating you up in your senile mode?

Have you ever monitored how much you let on to your parents about your whereabouts because they would not get it, but fully expected your child to never hide things from you?

Have you attempted to deglamorize the life of a war news reporter hoping that your child would never be inspired by them at the same time feeling tremendous survivors’ guilt for everyone dying in war?

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Have you ever been in denial about your son’s stomach virus, because such a thing could never happen to YOUR child, all the while being paranoid about his safety in school, life, day and night?

Have you ever strived to teach the lessons of truthfulness, honesty and righteousness to your child but assured yourself you are no Gandhi while gunning the gas pedal trying to make it past an orange light?

Have you ever wished you knew more so you could teach your child more, but felt good about your problem solver when he uses a flash light to check a boo-boo on your leg?

Have you ever been so distracted watching TV that your answer to your child’s question, if daddy put the baby in mommy’s tummy, was to your chagrin an affirmative, “Sure honey, you are right, you are right, you are right!”

Have you ever been eager to grab a mirror to look at your Poker face when you hear from your child that he knows what happens next as soon as you pause a movie at the most inappropriate moment to announce that it is their bed time?

Have you ever stopped mid-conversation with your child to stare at his features, hoping that his ears, eyes and mouth will grow out in his face to make him the perfect Greek God much to the jealousy of other mothers?

Have you ever wondered how you might claim all rights on your son when his teacher writes you the, “he is a brilliant child” email, only to disown him when you see him in his muddy shirt that afternoon when you go pick him up from school?

Have you ever dreamt of how this really lazy child of yours would somehow magically transform into an adult superstar because he has this amazing hidden natural talent that he is going to succeed at?

Have you ever wondered no matter where you were with him, or without him, when you thought of his face, his touch, his smell, his voice and his playful hands on your hair, his tired head on your shoulder, his still face when he slept, he still manages to leave you breathless and makes you realise that every minute around him is a timeless metaphor? 

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