Motherhood: The Crucible of Love - Snedeker, Dominique M.
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When Dominique Snedeker left her Air Force career destined instead for marriage and family, she had no idea that transitioning from a professional to stay-at-home mom would be so difficult. A life-long dream, raising babies all day, every-day, was a challenge, but admitting this felt like she'd let herself, her children, her grandmothers, the world-her own ideals down. To process this disillusionment, she turned to writing. Those midnight and stolen-moment typing's birthed this collection of poetry, an ode perhaps, to motherhood. Motherhood: The Crucible of Love explores the post-partum…mehr

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When Dominique Snedeker left her Air Force career destined instead for marriage and family, she had no idea that transitioning from a professional to stay-at-home mom would be so difficult. A life-long dream, raising babies all day, every-day, was a challenge, but admitting this felt like she'd let herself, her children, her grandmothers, the world-her own ideals down. To process this disillusionment, she turned to writing. Those midnight and stolen-moment typing's birthed this collection of poetry, an ode perhaps, to motherhood. Motherhood: The Crucible of Love explores the post-partum journey of self-rediscovery, the existential crisis every parent faces when suddenly life is no longer theirs. But parenting arouses instinctual love, a love that overwhelms, a love powerful enough to refine. Walk through this catharsis of honesty to find yourself remade in the furnace, in the heat, in the crucible we call love. Becoming a mother-the breaking Becoming the woman-a remaking Standing at the mirror Hair askew and tank stretched and spotted With who knows what I see nothing but blurry lines And eyes I do not know. The shock startles me and I wonder: Where is the mother in the woman? Where is the woman in the mother? The question surprises me and I Bump my head as I stare Into unknown eyes, exploring A woman I've forgotten Or traded For those sleepers flopped Like puppies in bed. The woman before the breaking Must have been me. I can't remember now What solitude and papercuts Feel like. But the paci on the sink Warms my heart- Little Eyes and fingers and toes Flood my body with warmth And a gummy smile with One, two, what eight? little teeth Makes my chest tight. The mother is here. And somewhere, So is the woman.
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