Twenty four years ago, my mama brought me home.
It was her birthday, too, but this time, I wore the crown.
She always told me I was better than the gifts they bought.
I laugh when she says that because I know the trouble I’ve caused.
When she clamped a bow, I ripped it out.
I was never clean and I was always loud.
She should be relieved it’s over and happy I’m gone.
Satisfied with a promotion to a hip-name-for-grandma.
But does the struggle of motherhood ever really end?
The hatchlings flutter to far fields and it starts once again.
They function and fail and flap and fly.
My mama’s heart hurts while she beams with pride.
From sleepless nights and sick kids to breakups and goodbyes,
to all the in-between and where the goodness lies.
From I-won’t-eat-this, don’t-touch-him, quiet-down,
to not a nudge or a noise to be found.
Dear mama, you built a comfy nest;
one I aspire to create as a mom, myself.
Please cherish your new role and well-deserved time.
Please know that I do, we do, you do is still the foundation of my life.
I select every blade of grass and mold every twig.
I count every lock of hair and rock while I sing.
I dwell in the now and I worry for the coming.
And just like my mama, I hit the ground running.
With every rocker and twig, crib and cotton,
I can promise you, mama, you won’t be forgotten.
Here are a few of our holiday favorites at Trains and Tantrums: