The makings of a mother

What makes a mother is not blood. It is not stretch marks, Nor is it labour or having a baby at the end of it all. What makes a mother are the tears she cries for her child, The scars unseen but embedded on her heart, The times she felt a failure but carried on through, The days she thought she might give up but she made up instead. A mother lets go when her heart tells her to hold on, A mother lets live when all she wants to do is protect, A mother re-creates her childhood despite the inconvenience, And lives multiple lives through the eyes of her child. A mother is not born on the day of childbirth, A mother grows through each moment, A mother loves, and fails and learns. Blood did not make me a mother; Only God made this one.