For the life-givers

Here’s one for the haters: babies keep coming. They come rushing through portals lined with blood, fat with life, and they come for a reason. They come through women who’ve been sliced open and stitched up again, or otherwise left for dead.

They come one way or another, multiplying each time the machine swings its blade to silence us.

Babies keep coming because there’s work to do. Because it takes many to save your sorry ass.

All of our sorry asses.

Then the babies grow up. Some grow so tall they bust up cycles of strife. They grow beyond their parents 2.0, they grow despite culture and because of it.

Other babies are groomed for trash-dom. For the balance.

The job of a mother is to nurture.

The inclination is to do exactly that, often in ways that don’t appear to be sensible from the outside.

The experience is to fill up only as much as you can break apart, which is completely. It’s learning to keep up with becoming some new, alternate reality version of yourself every day.

There would be no joy on this earth if not for our mothers, in which ever form they may manifest.

Give thanks for the life givers, more than anyone else.