Lovely poem

It was a rough night last night, actually the past 2 nights have been rough. Poor Mirabel got her dad's bad cold and, with a fever that wouldn't break and a stuffy nose, she refused to sleep. She literally only slept 3 hours in a 24 hour period. Thankfully, her dad, seeing how tired I was, stayed up and held her upright for 4 hours so I could get some rest. AND the poor guy is in the middle of finals; he's yet to start studying for the toughest one that's on Monday.

This may sound silly, but even though times like this are stressful and would've probably made us argue before Mirabel was born, we are closer now that she is here precisely because of these moments, and in the toughest part of these moments. Instead of getting impatient at 2 AM because we're both sleep-deprived, we laugh and dance around in our PJs with dried baby boogers on our clothes, spit up in our bed (actually, mine and Mirabel's bed ;) and just pray that we maintain a tiny bit of our sanity. Instead of worrying about his Corporate Finance final on Monday and getting upset about how he has to sleep so he can study, Jose grabs Mirabel and lets me sleep. No complaints are made, all signs of frustration and concern are non-existent. For 4 hours, he does nothing but tenderly hold his baby in his arms. He can't sleep, because he doesn't want to drop her, I'm sure; he also isn't nearly alert enough to study. But he takes it like a mature, loving, selfless adult; a truly respectable man of God.

I don't know if it's the sleep-deprivation or if I'm just the cheesy, sentimental type. I think it's probably the latter, but I really enjoyed the poem below and wanted to share it with you all...

This poem goes out to the awesome Dads as much as it goes out to loving Moms, biological and spiritual. This is for all of you. I found it on this site. Enjoy.

For All Mothers

This is for all the mothers who froze their buns off on metal bleachers at soccer games instead of watching from cars, so that when their kids asked, "Did you see my goal?" They could say, "Of course, I wouldn't have missed it for the world," and mean it.

This is for all the mothers who have sat up all night with sick children in their arms, wiping up barf laced with Oscar Meyer wieners and cherry Kool-Aid saying, "It's OK honey, Mommy's here."

This is for all the mothers of Kosovo who fled in the night and can't find their children. This is for the mothers who gave birth to babies they'll never see and for the mothers who took those babies and gave them homes.

For all the mothers who run carpools and make cookies and sew Halloween costumes and for all the mothers who don't.

What makes a good mother anyway? Is it patience? Compassion? Broad hips? The ability to nurse a baby, cook dinner, and sew a button on a shirt, all at the same time? Or is it heart? Is it the ache you feel when you watch your son or daughter disappear down the street, walking to school alone for the very first time?

The jolt that takes you from sleeping to dread, from bed to crib at 2 a.m. to put your hand on the back of a sleeping baby?

Is it the need to flee from wherever you are and hug your child when you hear news of a school shooting, a fire, a car accident, a baby dying?

I think so.

So this is for all the mothers who sat down with their children and explained all about making babies. And for all the mothers who wanted to but just couldn't.

This is for reading "Goodnight, Moon" twice a night for a year. And then reading it again, "Just one more time".

This is for all the mothers who mess up. Who yell at their kids in grocery store and swat them in despair and stomp their feet like a tired two year old who wants ice cream before dinner.

This is for all the mothers who taught their children to tie their shoelaces before they started to school and for all the mothers who opted for Velcro instead.

For all the mothers who bite their lips (sometimes until they bleed) when their 14 year olds dyed their hair green.

This is for all the mothers who lock themselves in the bathroom when babies keep crying and won't stop.

This is for all mothers who show at work with spit-up in their hair and milkstains on their blouses and diapers in their purse.

This is for mothers who teach their sons to cook and their daughters to sink a jump shot.

This is for all mothers whose heads turn automatically when a little voice calls "Mom?" in a crowd, even though they know their own offspring are at home or are grown.

This is for mothers who put pinwheels and teddy bears on their children's graves.

This is for all the mothers whose children have gone astray and who can't find words to reach them.

This is for all the mothers who sent their child to school with a stomach ache, assuring that they would be just FINE once they got there, only to get a call from the school nurse an hour later asking them to please pick them up right away.

This is for young mothers stumbling through diaper changes and sleep deprivation. And mature mothers learning to let go.

For working moms and stay-at-home moms. Single mothers and married mothers.

Mothers with money and mothers without.
This is for you, so hang in there. The world would be a terrible place without the love of mothers everywhere. You make it a more civil, caring and safe place for the precious children in our world.

Author Unknown