Real Mothers don’t eat quiche;
They don’t have 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.
Real Mothers don’t want to know what
The vacuum 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 of Mummy to Mum to Mother…
My grandma sent this to me today, and I thought it was short, sweet and completely on point. I just wanted to share with the rest of you who might need a little poem about now.