30.04.25

Got up six times a night to pee.
Had to lift their own belly just to get off the couch.
Sat in the middle of a meeting thinking: please let my water break now so I have an excuse to leave.

For all the mothers who gave birth with a primal force they didn’t know they had.
Or who lay shaking through a C-section and later wondered: did I really do that?
(Yes. You really did.)

For all the mothers who stayed awake while their baby finally slept because the silence felt scarier than the crying.
Who Google at 3AM if that cough is normal.
Check the temperature.
Hunt for a diaper.
Try to stay calm.
Who whisper:
“It’s okay, mama’s here,” while not entirely sure it is.

For all the mothers who make food that doesn’t get eaten.
Who fly airplanes made of spoons.
Who sit on the floor with pasta in their hair and think: so... this is lunch.

For all the mothers who get dressed in three minutes.
Who forget to eat but still dig the one essential stuffed animal out of the laundry basket because “it has to come.”

Who curse in the car and immediately say sorry, to no one, to themselves or to their child.

For all the mothers who say “I’m coming,” and then pause in the hallway, just leaning against the wall.

For all the mothers who handle a tantrum like they’re negotiating with a tiny, irrational terrorist.
Who sigh, count, breathe and still lose their patience.

For all the mothers who feel guilty.
Because they work too much.
Or not enough.
Because they yelled.
Or because they cried silently on the bathroom floor.

For all the mothers who only realize at work there’s a raisin cookie stuck to their sweater.
Or who never show up in the photos, because they’re the ones taking them.

For all the mothers who are still figuring it out, every single day.
And still get up.
And say:
Come on, let’s try again.
For all the things no one sees, but mean everything to that one small person.
For all the mothers who simply do what needs to be done.

We’re doing it. And we’re doing it well.

With gentleness,

Emilie