A very nice text from one of my favorite writers has come to my hands, Isabel Allende.
It is a reflection on the "be a mother", a constant theme in his works that I want to share with you this Saturday. I hope you enjoy it.
"Because of chance or a slip, any woman can become a mother. God has endowed her with mansalva" maternal instinct "in order to preserve the species. If not for that, what she would do when she saw that Tiny, wrinkled and shrill creature, it would be thrown in the trash, but thanks to the "maternal instinct," he looks at her dumbfounded, finds her beautiful and prepares to take care of her for free until she turns at least 21. She is a mother and is considered to be much more It is noble to blow noses and wash diapers, to finish studies, to succeed in a career or to stay thin.It is to exercise the vocation without rest, always with the cantaleta of which they brush their teeth, lie down early, take good notes, do not smoke, take milk…
It is worrying about vaccines, cleaning the ears, studies, swear words, boyfriends and girlfriends; without being offended when they send her to shut up or they throw the door in her noses, because they are not at all ... It is to stay awake waiting for the daughter of the party to return and, when she arrives to fall asleep so as not to annoy. It is shaking when the child learns to drive, rides a motorcycle, shaves, falls in love, takes exams or takes out his tonsils. It is crying when you see happy children and clench your teeth and smile when you see them suffering. It is to serve as a babysitter, teacher, driver, cook, laundry, doctor, police, confessor and mechanic, without receiving any salary. It is giving your love and time without waiting to be thanked. That is to say that "they are things of age" when they send it to the reed. Mother is someone who loves us and takes care of us every day of her life and who cries with emotion because one remembers her once a year: Mother's Day. The worst defect that mothers have is that they die before one gets to give back part of what they have done. They leave one helpless, guilty and inevitably orphan. Luckily there is only one. Because no one would endure the pain of losing it twice. "
On Blank Paper | Ines of my soul, Isabel Allende
