MuguRe

Mom. Mommy. Mami. Maitú. A sound so sweet on the lips, music to the ears of every mother. A name some take for granted while others still will commit a crime just so she can respond to this name. When I finally become a mum, it took awhile for enormous task before me sank in; zilch social life, sleepless nights, unkempt hair, ugly looking clothes, figuring out what each cry represented. Was he wet, hungry, warm enough, or just enjoying the power he had over me, knowing each cry will have me running to his side, that I will pick him and give him my warmth, my love, my smile even though I was dying to scream, and best of all a nipple to suckle on happily. I remember looking at my own mother then and a sense of awe came over me; she had done this eight times. I asked her how she managed, how could she have done it and never lost her head and walked away. I wondered whether I would make it. Did I have it in me to give my son everything he needed, wanted? Did I know how? You see, been a mo...