No one checked my stitches, my healing, or my sanity until eight weeks postpartum.
And even then, it was a pat on the back and I was sent on my way.
Our world forgets about mothers.
We slip through the cracks.
We become background noise.
And in that, we learn our role… our place in our family unit… to always come last.
Folks, we can’t put mothers last.
To be healthy.
To know that we are worthy.
To know that Motherhood, while natural, can sometimes feel like the least natural role in our life.
And that deserves attention.
Mothers deserve attention.
We need our world to fuss over us the way they fuss over ten fresh fingers and ten fresh toes.
We need to be seen.
We need to be heard.
We need someone to not only ask if we’re okay but to check time and time again, just to be sure.
We’re not just a uterus.
We’re not just a lifeline to a new and precious soul.
We’re mothers.
And we need someone to make sure we’re ok, too.
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This post originally appeared at Grown Up Glamour by Anneliese Lawton, published with permission.
