Gazing at the portraits on the wall, I see my children, husband, and myself—
Each one matched in clothes and countenance and looking right, as if we all belong.
Still I find it hard to comprehend that to a wife and mother I have grown.
In my eyes I don’t look anything remotely like the mothers I have known.
Is it youth or immaturity that makes me doubt these titles I possess?
Can it be quite simply that I’ve known myself too long to see my own egress?
Maybe the acceptance of the roles is what I fight against within my mind.
No. I took them on quite willingly, so elsewhere I must look to answer find.
Gazing at the portraits once again, I see my children, husband, and myself—
Each one matched in clothes and countenance and looking right, because we all belong.
Originally posted on The Abundant Heart.
