"A mother's love is the heartbeat of the home; without it, there is no rhythm, no life." - Unknown.
Time is such a strange concept. Some say It is relentless, It marches forward without pause, without mercy and without care for the hearts it leaves behind. But for a mother, time is something else entirely. It is both a thief and a gift, a paradox that steals moments even as it gives life new meanings. From the first flutter of life within her womb to the final steps of her child into the world, a mother's relationship with time is like a dance. A beautiful, soulful, heartbreaking, and utterly transformative dance.
It is amazing how a mother's feeling for her child comes to be. How life-changing emotions and sacrifices can be made in a heartbeat for someone who just came into existence and for someone who never was. A mother's heart can never truly be understood.
From the moment she knows she is carrying life, time begins to move in a way she has never experienced before. At first, it feels slow, as if the universe itself is holding its breath in anticipation.
It begins from the first time she feels the flutter inside her womb. From how time stands still, barely perceptible—like butterfly wings brushing against her insides, yet, capable of changing everything. She holds her palm against the gentle curve of her abdomen and waits, holding her breath, for another sign of the miracle growing within. In that moment of connection, seconds stretch into eternities.
She marvels at how her body stretches and grows, how it becomes a home for someone she has never seen but knows better than herself. Time, in these moments, feels infinite. She feels she has forever to prepare, forever to dream, forever to imagine the face of the child who will call her Mom.
But forever is a lie. Those nine months play tricks with time. Days crawled by as she counted kicks and watched her body transform with wonder and impatience. Nights seemed endless as she shifted uncomfortably, trying to find rest while her baby performed somersaults beneath her ribs. Yet somehow, those months also vanished in a heartbeat. One moment she was staring in disbelief at a positive pregnancy test, and the next she was being wheeled into a delivery room, wondering where all that time had gone.
She begins to question the worth of her struggles as the pain of childbirth tears through her every muscle. She wishes her life could end but, as the first cry of her baby slices through the air, so raw and full of life, she knows she wouldn't mind going through it again.
Tiny fingers curl around hers, so impossibly small, yet gripping with a strength that anchors her to something far greater than herself. The world narrows to this moment. She counts her fingers and toes and marvels at the perfection of this tiny human she has created. And then, just as suddenly, the days start to slip through her fingers like sand. 'The nights are long, but the years are short.' She's heard the phrase often, but it doesn't truly sink in… Not until she's living it herself.
The first year is a whirlwind of firsts. First smile, first laugh, first word, first step. She labels each moment as her favourite and captures them with photos and videos, desperate to hold onto them, to freeze time in its tracks. But time cannot be so easily tamed. It moves forward, relentless and unyielding.
She blinks, and her baby is crawling. She blinks again, and they're taking their first steps. She reaches out to steady them, but they pull away, determined to do it on their own. It's the first of many moments when she realizes that her job is not to hold them close forever, but to teach them how to let go.
The toddler years are a blur of endless pestering and questions. She answers as best she can but sometimes doesn't know the answers. And that's okay because what matters is the asking. What matters is how their little hand fits so perfectly in hers, how they look at her like she holds all the secrets of the universe and how she fits into their eyes like she is the centre of their world. She memorizes the sound of their laughter, the way their eyes light up when they see her. She knows this won't last, so she savours it.
School years come next, and with them, a new kind of chaos. There are lunches to pack, homework to help with, and endless activities to juggle. She becomes a master of schedules, a conductor of the symphony that is her child's life. She watches as they grow, make friends, and discover the world beyond her arms. It's beautiful and terrifying all at once. She wants to protect them from it all, from scraped knees and broken hearts, from failure and disappointment. But she knows she can't. And so, she learns to let go, just a little. She learns to trust that the lessons she's taught them will be enough.
The teenage years are a storm. There are slammed doors and eye rolls, arguments and tears. She feels the distance between them growing, and it aches in a way she can't quite explain. But even in the hardest moments, she sees glimpses of the child they once were. The way they still come to her when they're sick, the way they laugh at her terrible jokes, the way they sometimes—just sometimes—let her hug them. She knows they're trying to find themselves, to figure out who they are apart from her. And though it hurts, she's proud of them. She's proud of the person they're becoming.
And then, one day, it happens. It's the Wedding Day. Her baby is an adult now, ready to take on the world. She dabs her cheeks as she laughs and cries counting the years, the months and the days. How did it go so fast? How did the baby she once held become this confident and capable person? She thinks back to all the moments—all her favourite firsts.
The ceremony is a blur of smiles and tears. She watches as her daughter walks down the aisle, her arm linked with her father's. She watches as her priceless treasure now becomes the treasure of another family. She watches as she lets go of her father's hand and takes the hand of the man who will now be her partner, her family. She thinks of the sleepless nights and the endless worries, the sacrifices and the joys.
She realises that while time had created distance in one sense, it had also forged connections that transcended physical proximity. The hours spent reading stories, bandaging wounds, helping with homework, and simply being present had woven an unbreakable bond that neither time nor distance could sever. Every moment was seared into the very fragment of her being and every moment was worth it.
Every mother learns eventually that the greatest gift she gives is not in holding on, but in preparing her child to fly. Standing there on the precipice of her child's adult life, she finally understands that time's greatest magic isn't found in trying to slow it down, but in filling each moment so fully that its essence remains long after the second has passed. Every tear dried, every laugh shared, every lesson taught—these are not lost to time but transformed into the person her child has become.
And so she lets go, not with empty hands but with a heart full of moments that time can never truly take away. Because a mother's love exists outside of time, It is eternal, enduring, and ever-present, like stars that continue to shine long after they've burnt away.
What defines the heart of a mother? You've felt it deep in your bones, a love that was both a whisper and a roar. It was the strength that had carried you through every stage, every challenge, every joy. It was the light that guided him and the anchor that had held her steady. The love that would always remain, a constant presence and a timeless bond. This is the heart of a mother, a love that knows no bounds.