MOTHER'S MILK WORLD

Life is what you make it.  I've learned that through so many lessons and in so many ways over the years.  Most of those lessons i've learned have been from the women in my life.  Some have been my ride or die homies who have mothered me through whatever emotional or physical trauma I was experiencing to the random momma stranger on the street who's momma .  It was these moments that made me understand the importance of my circle of women.   I'm so thankful for the many times I was emotionally rescued by these surrogate mothers in my life also known as my friends, my sisters, my aunties, my co-workers, my son's friend's moms, my friend's moms, and at the top of that list...my mom .  Women who had no obligation to my healing.  They simply were expressing their mother-nature, an extremely challenging emotion to avoid.  It's like an impulse...much like child birth when it comes time for a woman to push, it is an impulse that women cannot stop themselves

Who are you?   As we embark on the journey of motherhood so many of us find ourselves merging our childhood, teenage, young adult dreams with the dreams that we now have for the being that we've birthed from our loins.  This representation of all things beautiful, free, innocent and right about you.  So your focus, ok, my focus is now place squarely on this gift releasing any dream distracting you from the gift.   Funny thing is, that gift i've fallen on the sword for...that gift I've selflessly starved my desires and dreams for...that gift that was born of me...specifically chose me, which means releasing my wishes and desires...the same desires and passions that helped form this gift is actually you denying the gift...this representation of all things beautiful, free, innocent and right about you is denied the opportunity to meet their maker...really know their maker...be affirmed by their maker. Moral of the story mother...don't give up who you are by letting

I love my mother so much!  She has been my rock and my salvation.  She has been the person who understood me the least but comforted my in ways that no other being could satisfy.  I love my mother. Ms. Mabel... Like many folks, I really didn't start getting to know the woman whom I called mom until later in life.   She was always just mom.  It didn't help that she was also very guarded as are many african women, so wearing her emotions anywhere on her person was not a thing, unlike her daughter whose emotions should be tattooed across her face...Just sayin'. My mother's name is Mabel.  She is the second youngest child out of six.  She was raised in Zimbabwe with her parents and siblings (3 sisters and 2 brothers) on a farm.  My grandmother was a midwife and my grandfather farmed but also was a musician. My mother has always been driven; so much so that she left the home that she new in Zimbabwe at sixteen to come to the US as an exchange student.  Did she fly