One morning I was given a job. It came with a title.
I knew it was going to be a demanding one. I had read and been told so much about how to do the job. Watched others. None of it prepared me for it. Because in spite of all the advice, I learned the job on the fly. There were far too many days when I had no idea what I was doing, even less of what I was going to do next.
Not going to lie, there were days where I know I messed up royally. And while even now, after holding this position for decades, I still sometimes question my abilities for this job. I do the job anyway. Most days I think to myself, I’ve done my best, I continue to do my best and it’s not a bad job at all.
One morning I was given a job. It came with a title.
And unlike marriage, it’s a job and a role that not even death can part.
The job: parent. The title: Mother.
Over recent years I am, or have been, the emotional parent of sorts to several, not even close to being called children, a few of whom who refer to me in matriarchal terms.
I am the biological mother of two.
But only one can be my first.
One morning I was given a job. It came with a title.
No, that’s not accurate. I wasn’t given a job and a title.
One morning, a bundle was placed in my arms, and I was honored with the job and title for the very first time.
Sometimes I swear that morning was just yesterday, a week ago at the most.
Happy 40th Birthday, my first sun.
Day 3 of 31 – Come see how the rest of us are slicing it up today!
15th Annual Slice of Life Writing Challenge
Two Writing Teachers
Raivenne-lations 