Quotes About Motherhood

I have such a lovely life and I just never imagined that I would miscarry a baby.

It makes me feel like a woman. It makes me feel that all the things about my body are suddenly there for a reason. It makes you feel round and supple, and to have a little life inside you is amazing.

It's the greatest thing that ever happened in my life, my son.

As a mother, you have that impulse to wish that no child should ever be hurt, or abused, or go hungry, or not have opportunities in life.

I was given baby doll toys myself, and they proved a stark reminder that my life was expected to revolve around childbearing - just as my mom's had before me, and her mom's had before her.

I loved my kids. And I loved my house, and I loved a lot of things about my life in the 1950s. But there were a lot like me in that era, very overeducated housewives.

Until my Yoga practice became the great facilitator of all things in my life, the integration of career, purpose and motherhood felt like an unattainable dream.

My baby is the joy in my life.

I'm a working mother... You try to pay the bills, you try to keep your life going and there's pressure.

It certainly changes your life. So that may be a cliché, but I think any woman would say that [day when her baby born] would have been the most special day of their life.

When I first held my daughter, right after she was born, I felt like it was the moment I'd been waiting my whole life for, and it just felt even more miraculous than I ever could have imagined.

Four months is a lot of living with that little life in you - thinking about it, eating right for it, nurturing it and all of a sudden, it dies.

Being a mom changes your life. It actually has made me become more comfortable in my own skin and my own body because it's such a growth and a learning lesson.

My children were the center of my life.

And so you carried life for the world, Mary, as you fled, to protect that very life from threats of death. Joining the world's mass of displaced people you became Refugee, Alien, Immigrant, Homeless, and settled in a foreign land-- the only place to safely nurture your fragile dream. Like so many other women who flee violence, clutching their babies, you crossed the border defining you a stranger, dependent on foreign aid, welfare and hand-outs-- the charity of others-- to feed the Son of God.

Each baby wordifies its tongue firstly with the meaningless words and then initials, a word Mom.

My pure and lovely world was my mother's lap.

My firstborn, Michael, nearly died in his first moments of life, and he was sickly for some weeks after. I recall clearly those anxious days, peering into his incubator. I remember aching to hold him, and yet, superstitiously, I feared that if I made that connection, if I dared to love him more than I already did, he would be snatched from me.

Mama gazes at her own hands while I listen to what an awful kid I am.

I'm almost a full-time mom.

Daria weighed five pounds, four ounces, and was in perfect health. But she was by far the smallest baby in the observation room. And every other baby in there had a full head of hair. The fact that she had no hair drove me crazy. I don't know why. That first night I was so upset that I cried all night long. I was thinking, I did a bad job. I didn't eat properly, I skated too long, and that's why Daria has no hair. I was such a sad, funny little mom, and very far from home.

BOUNDARIES The extreme nature of everything I've experienced as a mother has also taught me the need for boundaries. I have learned to value my own limited energy and resources, and so I will ask my children to help me around the house. If they choose not to help, they will lose some valued object or activity.

What's got into me? Do I want children? Do I want to be a mamma, nursing and singing lullabies? Marriage plus pregnancy? And if my mother should emerge from my stomach just now when I think I'm safe?

I saw clearly the mothers of the old neighborhood. They were nervous, they were acquiescent. They were silent, with tight lips and stooping shoulders, or they yelled terrible insults at the children who harassed them. Extremely thin, with hollow eyes and cheeks, or with broad behinds, swollen ankles, heavy chests, they lugged shopping bags and small children who clung to their skirts and wanted to be picked up. And, good God, they were ten, at most twenty years older than me. Yet