The Mark Of A Mother

Today as I was sitting in the bright white room at the doctor’s office talking to my beloved pediatrician about my fifteen month old daughter at her well check up, my daughter dug her nails into the exposed skin below my neckline and drug her hands passed my heart all the way down to the squared neckline of my green Old Navy tee.


An hour after the incident.


I swore I was bleeding. I kept talking to my pediatrician but, at the same time, checking the part of my upper chest for blood. My daughter was smiling as she as she hurt me but I still swear that sweet child of mine may have been out for blood.

I have a bleeding heart for my children. I love them so much it hurts.

Mothers are just like that. All mothers. Breastfeeding mothers, bottle feeding mothers, working mothers, stay at home mothers, organic mothers and drive thru mothers. I am or know all of those kinds of mothers so I know its true.

We all have bleeding hearts for our kids. We all love them so much it hurts.

When my daughter straight up assaulted me in front of our pediatrician I literally gasped in pain but then smiled and went about our regular check up. I also probably kissed my daughter and told her how much I loved her as we left the office more than I can even count.


The Mark of a Mother is deeper than the marks on their skin or their ego. The Mark of a Mother loves the unloveable. The Mark of a Mother takes the pain inflicted from a sweet child and says,

I don’t care how much you just hurt me, I still want to smooch your face off. 

The Mark of a Mother knows our days are few.

You know you are a mother when the pain from your child, the blood on your hands of the stain on your ego does not change your love for them. The love for a child from a mother is unconditional and never ending.

The Mark of a Mother feels the pain and loves anyway.

That is the dangerous calling we have all been given. To love in the hurt. It is natural for us to do so. That is the Mark of a Mother.

Today when I checked out at the receptionist’s desk she gasped, Did someone scratch you?  

I nodded, yeah. Kids do things like this. 

I really don’t care. Of course, I want my children to grow to respect me but even if they don’t (and that could happen) even if they continue to scratch the surface of my heart… I will love them with a ferocious love anyway.


You hear that kids, no matter what you try to do to hurt me, I love you and I will try to smooch your face off anyway. 

This is the Mark of a Mother.

I see you moms and know you have that ferocious Mark of a Mother too.


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