This is for all the mothers who have sat up all night with sick toddlers in their arms, wiping up spit-up laced with hot dogs, birthday cake, and fruit juice saying, "It's OK honey, Mommy's here."
Who have walked around the house all night with their babies when they kept crying and wouldn't stop.
This is for all the mothers who have shown up at work with spit-up in their hair and milk stains on their blouses and diapers in their purse.
For all the mothers who have run carpools and made dozens of cookies for school teas and sewn Halloween costumes.
And all the mothers who haven't because they are at work trying to earn enough to keep on top of the bills.
This is for the mothers who gave birth to babies they'll never see.
And the mothers who took those babies and gave them homes and all their love.
This is for all the mothers who have sat on cold metal bleachers at hockey, baseball or soccer games instead of watching from their cars, so that when their kids asked, "Did you see me?" they could say, "Of course, I wouldn't have missed it for the world," and meant it.
This is for all the mothers who have yelled at their kids in the grocery store and swatted them in despair when they stomped their feet, like a tired two-year-old does who wants ice cream before dinner, and then hated themselves for "losing" it.
This is for all the mothers who sat down with their children to explain all about making babies. And for all the mothers who wanted to but just couldn't.