Quotes About Motherhood

Even as we enumerate their shortcomings, the rigor of raising children ourselves makes clear to us our mothers' incredible strength. We fear both. If they are not strong, who will protect us? If they are not imperfect, how can we equal them?

I realized that, while I would never be my mother nor have her life, the lesson she had left me was that it was possible to love and care for a man and still have at your core a strength so great that you never even needed to put it on display.

The world is full of women blindsided by the unceasing demands of motherhood, still flabbergasted by how a job can be terrific and torturous.

The great motherhood friendships are the ones in which two women can admit [how difficult mothering is] quietly to each other, over cups of tea at a table sticky with spilled apple juice and littered with markers without tops.

Mothers, justifiably fearful for every pfennig and always asking, What's it for? willingly gave up their sons and parts of their sons as long as they kept on playing this march. Once the music has faded away, they'd ask softly, What for? What for?

Nothing wrong with the way your mother looks. First thing in the morning, last thing at night, and every hour in between, she looks just fine.

Whenever I visit my mother I feel I am turning into Emily Brontë, my lonely life around me like a moor, my ungainly body stumping over the mud flats with a look of transformation that dies when I come into the kitchen door. What meat is it, Emily, we need?

Just the way all mothers are crazy to their daughters, all mothers are wrong.

I continue to be interested in the fact that children come out of your body, that giving birth is like pulling the sleeve of death inside out.

I didn't say any of this to my sister. How I saw her being broken into mediocrity and motherhood; her body broken and then her mind - or did her mind go first, it's sort of hard to disentangle - and then for her to turn around and say Broken is Best, I didn't say how that made me furious beyond measure.

Fight only in direst need Not for lust or petty greed Honor those that do give birth Respect them well for their full worth

In the sheltered simplicity of the first days after a baby is born, one sees again the magical closed circle, the miraculous sense of two people existing only for each other, the tranquil sky reflected on the face of the mother nursing her child.

At four that morning my son, Peter Williams Chambliss, slid into the world tiny and red and roaring with life and the awful love that caught and whirled me away when they laid him on my stomach was as strong and old as the earth and would, I knew dimly, abide as long.

It was pretty rocky last month but I didn't want to depress you with my depressions. I lack contentment. No. I lack a mother.

She sees to oars and oarlocks for the dinghy, has placed wild flowers at the window at breakfast, sat by the potter's wheel at midday, set forth three children under the moon, three cherubs drawn by Michelangelo, done this with her legs spread out in the terrible months in the chapel.

Who fed me from her gentle breast And hushed me in her arms to rest, And on my cheek sweet kisses prest? My Mother.

It is one thing to let go of the housekeeping. Quite another to relinquish being the center of your children's universe.

I feared they'd never have that special connection. The covenant between a mother and child is powerful, but if it's broken....

Of all the roles I've played, none has been as fulfilling as being a mother.

Annie Barrows lebt mit ihrem Mann und zwei Töchtern in Kalifornien. Die eine Tochter ist wie Ivy, die andere wie Bean. Sie brauen eine Menge Zaubertränke.

Thousands of girls have climbed up stairs and knocked on a door answered by a woman who is a complete stranger, to whom they are about to entrust their stomach and womb. And that woman, the only person who can rid them of their misfortune, would open the door, in an apron and patterned slippers, clutching a dish towel, and inquire, "yes, miss, can i help you?

Thousands of girls have climbed up stairs and knocked on a door answered by a woman who is a complete stranger, to whom they are about to entrust their stomach and their womb. And that woman, the only person who can rid them of their misfortune, would open the door, in an apron and patterned slippers, clutching a dish towel, and inquire, "Yes, Miss, can I help you?

Il m'arrivait d'oublier que j'était enceinte de deux mois. C'est sans doute à cause de cet effacement de l'avenir, par lequel l'esprit endort lui-même l'angoisse de l'échéance, qu'il sait pourtant inévitable, que des filles laissaient passer les semaines, pus les mois, jusqu'au terme.

As I bend forward to check the safety catch of my mother's wheelchair, she leans over and kisses my hair. How can I survive that kiss, such love, my mother, my mother.