I'd Rather - M. Gray

A recent post from my friend Gretchen reminded me of a poem shared in Childbirth Education classes that I adore:

I'd rather be a mother
Than anyone on earth
Bringing up a child or two
Of unpretentious birth.

I'd rather nurse a rosy babe
With warm lips on my breast
Than wear a queen's medallion
Above a heart less blest.

I'd rather tuck a little child
All safe and sound in bed -
Than twine a chain of diamonds
About my foolish head.

I'd rather wash a smudgy face
With round, bright baby eyes -
Than paint the pageantry of fame,
Or walk among the wise.

The Times

I’m not quite sure what’s happening to me. I used to be pretty badass.

It’s all changed. The millennium mohawk is growing out. My gauges are shrinking. I shove photos of some baby in the faces of strangers. I save recipes and even make them happen. I attend playgroups. I SUBSCRIBE TO DAILY CRAFT EMAILS FROM MARTHA STEWART. I walk around in public cooing and repeating high pitched sounds to a small, smiling human strapped to my chest.

On the other hand, it’s still the same old me. I enjoy a good swear word. I stay up late. I drink too much coffee. I scold the driver who has left their dog alone in the car on a hot day. It’s nice to feel progressive in my own way; when a friend called me a lactivist this week I wanted to smother them in a hug of gratitude. Instead we gushed over my endless photostream of a certain number one little man. He happens to be the cutest, brightest baby in the history of the world, you know — and I’ve heard his Mom has still got it going on.