They said,
Being a mother is hard,
And how true they were.

But through my eyes,
The hardest part wasn’t the care I gave—
Though yes, at times it was tough,
But there were moments of joy and love,
That I stole from the chaos.

The challenge,
The true weight of it,
Lay in the endless comparisons,
The ceaseless advice,
The relentless criticism—
“You’re not doing it right.”
“We did it this way.”
“Listen to us, we’ve raised more babies than you,
Seen more of the world than you.”

The diet,
The sleep cycle,
The diapers,
The milestones—
Each moment under scrutiny.

It wasn’t my baby that felt heavy,
But the complaints,
The complexities imposed by others.

What if I want to do it my way?
Yes, I’ll make mistakes,
And I’ll own them.

But know this,
No one could care for your baby better than you.
And no one—
No one—
Could care for and love mine the way I do.

Articulation: Shikha Sinha | Thoughts: Pranali Mehta