what do you do for work?

…where do i begin…

the age old small topic of conversation.

the question that honestly stops me in my tracks sometimes.

for the answer is so simple.

well, i’m a mother.

but then the follow up “yeah, but what do you DO”

as if that single word is not enough to explain it.

as if it isn’t the most all encompassing, mind altering, constant and liminal ritual there is in this world.

as if it isn’t enough to say that.

well then,

if you must know, i suppose it goes like this:

i am a healer. from my breast i create a golden elixir of life. the ultimate soother. nourishment and goodness. i kiss booboos better. i tend to scrapes and cuts. i make salves and balms for itchy skin and growing bones. i stay up ‘til the blue sun rises to rock my sickly child, suctioning the snot from his congested nose. administering dropperfuls of herbs and medicine so that he can drift back to sleep on my chest. for a few hours at least. i smooth the dampened dark curls across his forehead and smother his sweaty brow in kisses. i stir health into soups for dinner. i take us on long walks in the sunshine. we laugh and sing and dance and speak love onto one another. we cry and i hold them. we rock back and forth gently on the couch.

i am a midwife. life giver. soul grower. journey beginner. i bore and caught my baby, sticky and slick with blood, into my very hands all my own. i guided them here from beyond the stars. i coaxed them from within me to the other side. i breathed them through me. with no doctor or nurse attending even. i did that. and i healed my body up and taught myself to nurse and tend to everything, instinctively. i made myself baths of herbs and woke up throughout the night to check on my newborn and feed him well. i measured and weighed and monitored him every day for months.

i am an herbalist. i make tinctures, teas, and remedies for all kinds of ailments and allergies. i mix potions on my kitchen stove. i burn incense and ward off evils in the smoke. i create blends for nursing mothers, postpartum healing, sleep and sickness, bath soaks and stove simmers. soaps and lotions. communing with the plants. barefoot under the glow of the stove light. late into the night.

i am a baker and a chef. kneading bread dough with clean hands on the floured counter top. different meals for breakfast lunch and dinner. a rotating menu. i plan, and shop, and prepare. i wash and chop and sieve and stir. i infuse every food with blessings of longevity and health. i create nourishment from scratch. i fill the fridge with colors of the rainbow and cupboards stock full of canned and dry goods.

i am a housekeeper. i sort and organize through what we have. some to give and some to keep. i dust and mop and sweep and wipe counters. again and again. i wash and fold and wash and dry and wash and put away. laundry, dishes, ourselves, after a long and sweaty day. i make the beds. vacuum all the rooms. wipe the windows and the baseboards. pick up all the toys from the floor during nap times. all day, every day.

i am the educator. the teacher. i bestow all of what i know into the tiny sponge like mind of my child, and of every child. i answer again and again patiently, the whys and what ifs. i explain how things work. how everything works. i ponder where the blue of the sky comes from and how people love each other and what made the earth and why the oven gets hot and how come we get hungry or need baths. children are endless pools of wonder. and as much as i teach them, i learn.

i am the cabbie. towing my little one along with me wherever i go. double checking car seat buckles. checking down the mental list of everything i might need to leave the house. phone. keys. wallet. diaper bag. snacks. water. coffee. jackets. shoes. spare outfits. diapers. wipes. books. shopping list. blanket. toddler. a smile. check. check. check. what’s the weather like? what do we need to get? how long will it take? when’s his next nap? make sure there’s gas in the car. make sure i have the old library books to return. make sure my phones charged. make sure i took the dog out before i left. check. check. check.

i am the seamstress. mending well worn clothes and daddy’s work pants he’s torn for the second time this week. stitching together new outfits for our 100th percentile 1 year old. experimenting to make myself a new skirt out of FB marketplace bedsheets because splurging on a store bought one is out of the question. googling the owners manual for my vintage secondhand machine and doing surgery to fix the bobbin winder and pick out 30 years old lint from all the nooks and crannies. trying my damndest to sew a stuffed rabbit for the fourth time. shit. it’s wonky and uneven again. maybe next time. crafting birthday decorations from scraps of baby clothes and felt from the craft store.

i am the child carer.

the wet nurse.

the personal shopper.

the interior designer.

the lover.

the entertainer.

the carer.

the adventurer.

the memory maker.

the picture taker.

the documenter.

the holiday planner.

the book reader and the song singer.

the warm arms

and the laugh maker.

i am everything

and i am more.

but to you i simply say,

i am a mother.