Mother who…

…you sleep with your eyes closed, you wake up at 5 in the morning but you no longer know if you ever fell asleep. That you take on the world when you manage to get 5 hours of sleep in a row and you wake up startled, almost guilty because you forgot to be a mother. What battles with busy mornings running between corridors to hunt heads with t-shirts and dresses, giving instructions from a distance as if you were on the Wall Street stock exchange buying and selling stocks, struggling with unchangeable diapers, children who undress after dresses, shoes that They never find their match walking towards what should be a healthy breakfast of course! hunting mouths while you divert attention to fill them, sing melodies, deal with liquids, jams, butters and cookies that disappear at the bottom of the bowls while you have breakfast, have breakfast? what is breakfast? maybe miraculously a cold coffee just before closing the door before opening it again to grab that something that you know someone has forgotten. With backpacks ready, with snacks, robes, bibs and seasonal replacements, pacifiers, dinosaurs and doll cars attached to your children's hands in front of the door just at the moment when it seemed like it was working that day.

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Mother who…

…you give every minute of your time and your mind when one of the litter is in sick, you make their suffering yours, you know how to guess them just by smelling them, you receive all the blows because only you know how to get up from all of them stronger if possible, watching your loved ones fight with their emotions, impulses and sensations always somewhere between sleep, hunger and despair.

Mother who…

…you reason the unreasonable, cure the incurable and achieve the impossible while you tirelessly repeat the same advice, imprinting it verbally in the minds and tasks of your little ones. Mother observed in parks crowded with mothers who try, at the closest distance, to be insatiable critics of their own reality, spaces of exchange that instead of promoting rest for mothers give rise to psychoparks that offer intensive courses on what to do and what what not to do to be “good and bad mothers.” Mothers running from one place to another saving children who seem to come out from under the stones.

Mother who…

…you try to do “normal” things when normality is the struggle between the conviction that you recover something but lose something else, almost guilty for having five minutes of time, nervously touching the cell phone that is operational and always at hand as a lifeline for the mother that you try to drown out between smiles and strange single-themed conversations about what we long for close in the distance or awkward silences because you forgot that it is a back-and-forth conversation without wipes in hand ready to clean your interlocutor's nose and face.

Mother who…

…when it comes to everything, you live in constant hyperactivity, thinking about where the instruction book will be for everything that comes to you and that remains to come, balancing your ways, theirs and those of the beyond, seeking at times emotional balance and patience that seems to have run out just before the alarm clock rang, bent between your knees, heads, without a pillow and uncovered, wondering if they had rested enough.

Mother who…

…rocking the empty chair at the traffic light, you look for the express keys to being a good mother by reading the blog of the moment, self-correcting and being your harshest critic, telling yourself that next time you will do better by fighting with feelings of frustration and imperfection.

Mother who…

…you work at the highest intensity, constant progress and with the sweetest sensitivity full time and all year round, a factory of kisses and hugs, of motivation and emotion that you see your children become what you dreamed of, that they grasp the happiness of your hand, make time with them count. Enjoy it, slow down, breathe and let your tagline stop being “hurry up”, put aside your cleaner, taxi driver, cook, nutritionist, nurse, educator, psychologist, mediator, decorator, storyteller, artist… and be a mother because Life... doesn't come with an instruction manual, it comes with a Supermom.

Mother who... you always were and will be my Supermother.

Cristina Oroz Bajo