The Weight of a Mother’s Love

Hi there, Mama.

You may not know me, but I know you. I’ve walked in your shoes (slowly of course, so my toddler’s little legs could keep up). I’ve worn your baby carrier, feeling the weight of my growing child cutting into my hips and shoulders. I’ve driven your car, loaded with clunky car seats, strollers, toys, diaper bags, sippy cups and strewn Cheerios. I’ve slept in your bed, waking up multiple times a night to nurse, to soothe, to chase away bad dreams, or to simply confirm my motherly presence in the world.

I’ve been there in the heaven and hell of your love.

That love—Oh Lord, that love. Sometimes it’s too much, isn’t it? The love and the worry it drags along with it. The love and the frustration it drags along with it. The love and the exhaustion it drags along with it. Love is loaded, Mama. It’s heavy and all-consuming and awesome and frightening. It’s delightful and life-affirming and blessed and holy. A mother’s love is not easy, not in the beginning, not in the middle, not ever. It’s a huge treasure chest, loaded with riches and gems, valuable beyond measure. But it’s not light, and it’s not easy. You can’t have that love without the weight. The two are inseparable.

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