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Sometimes, motherhood feels like a trap. Sometimes the love I have for my children seems all consuming; a marvel. And yet, still, I resent it. Sometimes, I wonder just what the hell I have done to myself four times over — if I would do it all over again — and panic at the thought of losing any one or all of my children.

They can all be true at the same time.

Is Not All Love the Same?

I have made a fatal mistake
I have tethered myself to someone
And made tiny humans
The lot of them, millstones around my neck

What am I to do when it all goes fucked
And I am unmoored
When I am trapped and cannot leave
Cannot die; I could never abandon them

How trite is the love of a mother for her child
But does it make it any less true
I thought I knew what love was
Except I am a jagged, broken thing

How could I have ever expected
This wild, clawing flutter
For a cluster of cells — a mere cluster of cells
But are we not also made of stars?

From the moment they winked into existence
Stretched from eternity to eternity
Reaching from beyond the grave and into the infinite
Even if we all return unto dust and only dust

I have made a fatal mistake
I have been imprinted —
Should it not be the other way around?
These tiny fucking humans; I am claimed