Since I’m a mother, too, as well as a copy­ed­i­tor — and since, in the long run, my moth­er­ing will, doubt­less, prove to be the more impor­tant of the two roles — this caught my eye anew when I received it by email from a friend. (It’s been around, so you may have seen it before.) Dads, keep watch: I’ll try to write one espe­cially for you in the near future! But for now, all you who are also moms, this is for you!

Me, with my baby when he was about 7 months old

Real moth­ers don’t eat quiche; they don’t have the time to make it.

Real moth­ers know that their kitchen uten­sils are prob­a­bly in the sandbox.

Real moth­ers often have sticky floors, filthy ovens, and happy kids.

Real moth­ers know that dried play dough doesn’t come out of car­pets. (I would add that it’s hard to get off the kitchen linoleum, too, but who cares? The kids were hav­ing so much fun!)

Real moth­ers don’t want to know what the vac­uum has just sucked up.

Real moth­ers some­times ask “Why me?” and get their answer when a lit­tle voice says, “Because I love you best.”

Real moth­ers know that a child’s growth is not mea­sured by height or years or grade; it is marked by the pro­gres­sion from “Mama” to “Mommy” to “Mom” to “Mother.” (Or per­haps in those teen years, to “Muh-THE-ER!” and then back to “Mom” again once the child has truly grown up!)

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