Story by Scarlett Longstreet
I can’t hide my motherhood.
Sometimes a bathing suit gives it away.
But it’s not always as flashy as loose skin and stretch marks.
Sometimes it’s in the way I stare a little longer at the mom pushing her new baby in a stroller. Because mothers in every stage make me pause to consider my past and future.
It’s instant tears when a news story involves children. My motherhood keeps me up at night worrying about the babies in those stories. And their mothers.
And inevitably, worry for them turns into worry for my own children.
You can tell I’m a mother because I toss and turn, thinking myself to sleep.
Sometimes a pacifier will fall out of my purse when I’m fumbling around for my wallet, or a small-sized shoe will tumble out of my car. There’s always clues about my true identity.
My motherhood shows when I’m out with friends or in a meeting, checking my phone. Always waiting for an update or an emergency from a babysitter or my spouse.
It becomes apparent when I decline another glass of wine, I’d like to stay… but I have to mother in the morning.
Motherhood has changed so much more than my body. My weight and shape have little meaning, I’ve been rebuilt.
It’s changed my heart, soul, and priorities. It’s changed how I see the world.
In my arms or not, I carry them with me.
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