The worth of a mother.
I see your hands, tough and strong. Calloused from the labour, ripped apart by the tools. I see your sacrifice, I see your value in the structures, designs and creations only you can build. Pride fills my heart as I watch how your hands build us a home, and provide all that we need. Then a sorrow creeps in, as I can’t see my worth- as I feel useless and unworthy. As I watch our daughters play, I realize something I had never seen before. I see my own hands, soft and nurturing; Holding our girls tightly, preparing our meals, creating our home, washing our clothes, caressing your body, teaching, reading and loving our toddlers. I see my own hands wiping away tears, patching up wounds, attending events and being the infinite cheerleader. I realize that my hands too have provided for our family. That my contribution is just as worthy.
