Reachel Bagley on motherhood.

In celebration of mothers all the world over, I've asked Reachel Bagley (of Cardigan Empire) to share with us what motherhood means to her.  She is a beautiful soul and has a way with words that will sing to you.  Thanks Reachel.

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I was born a mother.
 

The dull painted eyes of plastic baby dolls inspired only apathy; I preferred to hone my genius by way of my junior sister.  I learned to plate scrambled eggs to her fancy, proofread her essays on kittens, and tuck her along the wall side of our shared bed as a protection against whatever might be lurking beneath it.  She was a darling baby, but she grew up almost as quickly as I did.

So I adopted a husband.  I defended him from roaches and trimmed his toenails.  I tidied his tumult of tools and made sure he took his vitamins everyday.  But he is awfully awkward to cradle, and he almost never giggles.

We took in a dog. Mabel Dixie was the prettiest puppy eyes ever admired.  I washed her glossy red coat and carried her when the pavement was too hot for her paws.  I taught her where to potty and attempted to refine her manners.  She was an awful baby.  She cried all night, snarled, and bit.  I loved her.  When she ran away I papered every corner with her image and probed through the pound, to no avail.

I was born a mother.  But I couldn’t bear a baby.  Following an extensive search through wombs and doctor’s offices with ultrasounds, blue lasers, and needles, a selfless girl in California found our daughter.  Coco was perfect, and I was her mother.  Four months later we found our son Levi nestled inside me.
 

I was born a mother.  My calling is not to change diapers or spoon-feed tiny mouths.  My calling is to nurture eternity.  I scrub sinks and scour floors because my home is holy, upon the alter of this temple I have laid all my own ambitions.  I do not stay home to support my husband.  He goes to work to fund our family.

The products, campaigns, and companies I could have fostered will rot in the corners of filing cabinets and the crevices of hard drives.  But my family will blossom without end of season, perpetuating generation after generation of born mothers and instinctive fathers.