Momma Bear

I’ve been a mother longer than I’ve been anything else in my life so it’s no wonder that the bulk of my identity takes on a deep maternal bend. By my estimation I’ve done a pretty decent job up to this point, and for the most part my children feel the same way. I fall short of perfection in many ways and will never claim superiority over another’s method at doing her thing, but I’ve done the best with what I’ve hard and I’ve never regretted a single day of it all.

Because being a mother has been such a big part of my life I’ve been very protective of my children, especially during their developmental years. Any sign of a serious threat to their wellbeing and I’m prone to gather them close to me anyway I can and strike at said threat with claws and teeth bared. This also happens when I feel my maternal competency is challenged or undermined, and it’s the same reaction no matter if you’re my mother, my children’s fathers, or G_d Almighty him/herself.

The way I and society see it, the bulk of responsibility for meeting the needs of my children tests squarely on my shoulders. They bruise a knee, break a bone, are cold, hungry, or naked, Mother is called to the carpet to care for or answer to the situation. I was up for the feedings, the diaperings, the Parent-Teacher Conferences and doctor appointments. I alone dealt with the condescending glares and speech being a teen mother often attracts. It’s something I can’t help but take personally because it’s so much a reflection of who I am and what I’ve had to endure.

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