There’s no fucking thing as a super Mom.

When the kids are off to school and baby is sleeping, we debate, shall we clean or shall we sleep?

The devil sits on both shoulders with a warm heart in each hand and on some days we keep pushing and other days we sit idle. 

Sometimes we cry out of exhaustion, sometimes we laugh at the beautiful disaster. 

But at the end of the day we are tired. 

Upside down, holding the world upon my head and shoulders, I see there is way more to do than I realized upright with mop in hand. 

When we finish the work, we are not super, we are women.

Strong yet soft,

Fierce yet sweet,

Impenetrable might,

Yet vulnerable heart. 

We are woman. 

Do not call me super,

Call me woman! 

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s