Childbirth is like a vortex of uncertainty created between every agonizing cramps and the shaky clutch intervals doubled with the discomfort of the doctor’s continual baby opening check rendered by her mighty fingers. This vortex is conceived with this much struggle; yet a vortex we all want to enter. A gyre we must go through; the last phase of our initiation to motherhood.
Mothers go through so much pain in varied forms and roots but we seldom see them in such estate. Because to the best of their ability, they don’t want YOU to think that pain is all there is in the world. They want you to grow up beaming with hope and glee to become a good person. Because they have you, distress becomes ephemeral and is conveniently taken over by the joy of your every triumph; no matter how small.
All the pain that she prayed for to come during a precarious childbirth she prayed for intently to fight for your spot in this rather cruel but beautiful world; to make certain you see the light of the cosmos. All this become worth it with every spec of LOVE and gratitude you show. Regardless of how it is displayed - grand or paltry- , she revels in it rather too foolishly at times like she’s never seen anything as beautiful. Not because she’s one phony queen but because anything else in the world pales in comparison to what YOU can give her; to whom you are to her – her GREAT LOVE.
During the days and nights she might’ve spent alone in a hospital bed due to a frail condition, all she could ever think of is your well-being. All she could do is write a note to ensure you’ve eaten and you’re safe. When the attending nurse returns to hand her an intricately made dragon figure, she wouldn’t be able to hold her tears. Her son returned the note as recompense and made it into a dragon origami to pacify her raging concern. The note has become a DRAGON. That strong-willed paper dragon whose armor is adorned with the heavy stroke of a borrowed pen etching a mother’s care told her to hold on and be as strong-willed because her 11-year-old son is awaiting her return. He was just eleven, but he was eleven times more dependable.
The pain of childbirth is nothing compared to the joy YOU bring. The real pain of childbirth is only gravely savored when YOU decide to squander what your mother fought for. Those who still wallow in the pits of misfortune and anguish, get up, pick yourself up and remember how much pain your mother had to go through to fight for you. So it is time: FIGHT FOR YOURSELF; FIGHT FOR HER.
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