The Red Letter "P"

I never wanted to be a mom. There. I said it.

Condemn me, if you dare.

It wasn’t for lack of love, or vision, or care.

It was from overwhelming fear.

Fear of failing, fear of being less than I needed to be,

of not having what a precious new life

needed most from the inner depths of me.

Depths I feared to explore.

Grim, frightening caves filled with nightmare spiders,

Un-scaleable rocks and plummeting drops.

I wanted only the best for you . . .

the brightest shining star,

my miracle, my sunshine.

Once I took the trembling plunge

Into reluctant motherhood,

I pulled out all the stops,

driving full steam ahead,

wearing my “red letter P” brand, becoming one

of those parents others dread:

     You know those others, the ones who take so seriously

     a supposed civic duty to instruct, to criticize, and twist compliance

     to their internal vision of how it should be between a mom and her child?

Lesson learned:

Advocacy is just another name 

for the physics of pushing back

and standing firm