Lumps in our Throats...for moms

“Don’t worry too much”, my middle daughter tried to reassure me,

(as I 'expressed concerns' for her upcoming 'adventure')

 “like, just worry the normal mom-amount, okay? 

But not more than that! I’ll be fine!”

Ah, torn we are, twixt laughter and a lump lodged in our throats

Sweet Innocence is lovely without holes to fray its coats

My, but we’ve come a long way from those girlish, carefree days

When we scoffed at our anxious mother’s worry-tender ways

Now humble knees bend while pleas wend to God from helpless thought

And it is our turn to learn the trust our mothers sought

Where oft words would be reckless if first impulses would spew

But for ‘aha’; once we were wishful-thinking daughters too

Time is a patient Teacher; we all leave lost worlds behind

Surprised by changeless truths that youth is soon destined to find

Then torn we are twixt laughter for the girl she used to be

And tears; because the road is hard to true humility

How precious is the tick of clocks in childhood’s little leap

How pivotal this pit-stop; ‘now I lay me down to sleep’

For far too soon they drop their silver spoon and tiny coats

And leave us standing in the doorway with lumps in our throats

© Janet Martin

Years ago a local middle-aged DJ, Gary Doyle told his radio audience that he asked his mother how old he was when she stopped worrying about him.
She replied, I'll let you know!