A remarkably peeved creature is wrested from the depths of my being, thereby ending approximately nine months of expectation and wonder. What gender will the child be? Will he or she bear striking resemblance to me or will those odds tilt in the father's favor? Will he or she be blessed with hypersensitivity to peanuts or keen math skills? Mole on left side of the neck or predisposed to Parkinson's? There are no algorithms to predict the permutations of what characteristics and quirks will arise from the tangled web of chromosomes. Like I often repeat to my children "You get what you get and you don't get upset". Birth melds mother and child in a delicate dance of love. This bond is in no way rigid and is instead, dynamic and stretches infinitely to accommodate growth. Minds are bent out of shape and preconceived notions are questioned and discarded. People argue that a mother's love is boundless while the child's love waxes and wanes like the whimsical moon. Or is it that mother's love is restrictive, bound by fear and expectations and a child's love is pure and gentle? "Everything changes but change itself. Everything flows and nothing remains the same. You cannot step twice into the same river, for other waters and yet others go flowing ever on"- Heraclitus. Change is indeed the only constant and maternal love follows the same rules. It adapts, expands and grows. Just as choosing from the tangled web that shapes cells into living, breathing individuals is impossible, so is picking the right experiences that will shape them further into capable human beings. So, instead of trying to unfairly sculpt that which is meant to be set free, let's grow in tandem, child and mother, seeking experiences and freedom, instead of anxiety and captivity. Happy mother's day!
Kahlil Gibran
Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.
You may give them your love but not your thoughts,
For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow,
which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
You may strive to be like them,
but seek not to make them like you.
For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.
You are the bows from which your children
as living arrows are sent forth.
The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite,
and He bends you with His might
that His arrows may go swift and far.
Let your bending in the archer's hand be for gladness;
For even as He loves the arrow that flies,
so He loves also the bow that is stable.
On Children
Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.
You may give them your love but not your thoughts,
For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow,
which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
You may strive to be like them,
but seek not to make them like you.
For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.
You are the bows from which your children
as living arrows are sent forth.
The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite,
and He bends you with His might
that His arrows may go swift and far.
Let your bending in the archer's hand be for gladness;
For even as He loves the arrow that flies,
so He loves also the bow that is stable.
