Love hurts. And nothing hurts more than motherhood. From that first bout of morning sickness the message is clear -- we are no longer in charge. That tiny iron fist is a fist of fury, and mothers are more often than not the victim of child-on-parent violence. Oh they may look innocent, with their tiny sleepy eyes and their soft, sweet smelling skin, but in reality, they wield dangerous and frightening weapons: sharp nails that grow at a surprising rate, miniature heads that wobble uncontrollably on weak necks, and fat stubbly legs that kick out when least expected. And we can't fight back, that's their genius. We are at their mercy. We have to just take it.
So we do.
