motherhood poetry
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The house is a mess because people live here—laundry multiplies, toys migrate, dishes wait, and love takes up space.
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Sick or not, motherhood still wakes with bottles, dishes, dogs, medicine, and the quiet strength of doing the next thing.
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A summer trip in Vancouver turns frightening when an almost-two-year-old’s warmth becomes the first sign that something is terribly wrong.
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Goosifer folds her wings, Izzy Bear finds her den, and at last the whole little forest of a household becomes quiet.
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The household’s tiny chaos agent finally sleeps, transforming from Goosifer into a soft little snore wrapped around her mother.
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One wide-awake baby turns midnight into a private little world of moonlit stories while everyone else has already surrendered to sleep.
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Motherhood did not arrive gently—it forged a woman through fear, exhaustion, courage, and a love stronger than every storm.
