What Mothers Do For Us

What Mothers Do For Us

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A little girl. A little girl on a bench. A little girl sleeping on a bench with her head in her mother's lap, with the exhaustion of a six a.m. wakeup call weighing heavily on her tired eyes. She just barely fits, knees curled up to her chest, on the bench in the gray waiting room. With more color than the walls themselves, her face is tense, her jaw clenched. Every minute awake is slower than the next, but there's never enough time to sleep. Her mother places her hand on her head, covering her eyes from the light and the pain, and the little girl isn't so scared anymore.

A girl. A girl on a bench. A girl with her head propped up against the hard gray wall. Every now and then she changes what part of her face touches the wall, to relieve the other of the pain of supporting her whole head. She keeps her eyes closed, trying to avoid making eye contact with the other people in the room. She counts the seconds until she has to leave. When her head becomes tired of the wall, she leans over and puts her head on her own mother's shoulder, for her head hurts and her stomach cringes, and her mother puts her jacket around the girl. And the girl finally falls asleep until she is jolted awake by the sound of her own name.

A teenager. A teenager on a bench. A teenager sitting alone on the bench. Her feet hang off the side, respectfully, but her legs keep her in a comfortable enough position to drift in and out of sleep, only to wake up at the sound of the door opening and closing rather obnoxiously. Her mother sits in a chair right beside her. She snaps when her mother tries to interrupt her sleep and talk to her, but her mother stays there, patiently, through every second of the anger and deals with the sarcasm, because she knows it's not easy. It's not easy being there, in the room with no color, on the bench they sit on every time.

A woman. A woman on a bench. A women sitting uncomfortably upright. A woman trying to make interest out of what she sees in the plain room while she waits minute after minute. She hears a sharp voice call out her name, and stands up quickly. Everything is familiar and everything is routine for her. She'll soon forget that morning among all the ones just like it, but she'll never forget why she is there.

They are on the bench. The little girl wonders what is wrong with her, and struggles to adjust. The girl struggles to accept what she is only just starting to understand. The teenager wonders what she did to deserve this, angry that this is what her life is going to be like. The woman looks around the room and does not wonder anymore. She knows how lucky she is, because others have it worse. She accepts her reality. Every now and then she peeks through her eyelashes at the little girl sleeping on her mother's lap. She watches the girl asleep on her mother's shoulder. She watches the teenager snap at her mother. And the woman remembers her mother being there through all of it, and she is so thankful.



Cover Image Credit: http://girlwhothinks.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/02/mother-and-baby-holding-hands.jpg

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I'm A Woman And You Can't Convince Me Breastfeeding In Public Is OK In 2019

Sorry, not sorry.

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Lately, I have seen so many people going off on social media about how people shouldn't be upset with mothers breastfeeding in public. You know what? I disagree.

There's a huge difference between being modest while breastfeeding and just being straight up careless, trashy and disrespectful to those around you. Why don't you try popping out a boob without a baby attached to it and see how long it takes for you to get arrested for public indecency? Strange how that works, right?

So many people talking about it bring up the point of how we shouldn't "sexualize" breastfeeding and seeing a woman's breasts while doing so. Actually, all of these people are missing the point. It's not sexual, it's just purely immodest and disrespectful.

If you see a girl in a shirt cut too low, you call her a slut. If you see a celebrity post a nude photo, you call them immodest and a terrible role model. What makes you think that pulling out a breast in the middle of public is different, regardless of what you're doing with it?

If I'm eating in a restaurant, I would be disgusted if the person at the table next to me had their bare feet out while they were eating. It's just not appropriate. Neither is pulling out your breast for the entire general public to see.

Nobody asked you to put a blanket over your kid's head to feed them. Nobody asked you to go feed them in a dirty bathroom. But you don't need to basically be topless to feed your kid. Growing up, I watched my mom feed my younger siblings in public. She never shied away from it, but the way she did it was always tasteful and never drew attention. She would cover herself up while doing it. She would make sure that nothing inappropriate could be seen. She was lowkey about it.

Mindblowing, right? Wait, you can actually breastfeed in public and not have to show everyone what you're doing? What a revolutionary idea!

There is nothing wrong with feeding your baby. It's something you need to do, it's a part of life. But there is definitely something wrong with thinking it's fine to expose yourself to the entire world while doing it. Nobody wants to see it. Nobody cares if you're feeding your kid. Nobody cares if you're trying to make some sort of weird "feminist" statement by showing them your boobs.

Cover up. Be modest. Be mindful. Be respectful. Don't want to see my boobs? Good, I don't want to see yours either. Hard to believe, I know.

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For Camille, With Love

To my godmother, my second mom, my rooted confidence, my support

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First grade, March. It was my first birthday without my mom. You through a huge party for me, a sleepover with friends from school. It included dress up games and making pizza and Disney trivia. You, along with help from my grandma, threw me the best birthday party a 7-year-old could possibly want.

During elementary school, I carpooled with you and a few of the neighborhood kids. I was always the last one to be dropped off, sometimes you would sneak a donut for me. Living next door to you was a blessing. You helped me with everything. In second grade, you helped me rehearse lines for history day so I could get extra credit. In 4th grade, you helped me build my California mission.

You and your sister came out to my 6th grade "graduation". You bought me balloons and made me feel as if moving onto middle school was the coolest thing in the entire world.

While you moved away from next door, you were a constant in my life. Going to Ruby's Diner for my birthday, seeing movies at the Irvine Spectrum and just hanging out, I saw you all the time. During these times, you told me about all of the silly things you did with my mom and dad, how my mom was your best friend. I couldn't have had a greater godmother.

In middle school, you pushed me to do my best and to enroll in honors. You helped me through puberty and the awkward stages of being a woman.

Every single time I saw you, it would light up my entire day, my week. You were more than my godmother, you were my second mom. You understood things that my grandma didn't.

When you married John, you included me in your wedding. I still have that picture of you, Jessica, Aaron and myself on my wall at college. I was so happy for you.

Freshmen year of high school, you told me to do my best. I did my best because of you. When my grandma passed away that year, your shoulder was the one I wanted to cry on.

You were there when I needed to escape home. You understood me when I thought no one would. You helped me learn to drive, letting me drive all the way from San Clemente to Orange.

When I was applying to colleges, you encouraged me to spread my wings and fly. You told me I should explore, get out of California. I wanted to study in London, you told me to do it. That's why, when I study abroad this Spring in London, I will do it for you.

When I had gotten into UWT, you told me to go there. I did and here I am, succeeding and living my best in Tacoma. I do it for you, because of you.

When I graduated high school and I was able to deliver a speech during our baccalaureate, you cheered me on. You recorded it for me, so I could show people who weren't able to make it to the ceremony. You were one of the few people able to come to my actual graduation. You helped me celebrate the accomplishments and awards from my hard work.

When your cancer came back, I was so worried. I was afraid for you, I was afraid of what I would do without the support you had always given me. When I was in Rome, I went to the Vatican and had gotten a Cross with a purple gem in the middle blessed by the Pope to help you with your treatments. It was something from me and a little bit of my mom in the necklace, the gem.

Now, sitting so far from you away at college just like you wanted me to. I miss you. I wish I was there to say goodbye.

I'll travel the world for you, write lots of stories and books for you, I will live life to the fullest for you.

You are another angel taken too early in life. Please say hello to my parents and grandma in Heaven for me.

Lots of love,

Haiden

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