To all the mothers hooking their arms under the handles of infant carriers, hitching them onto their hips, grabbing the gallons of juice needed for preschool snack time with one hand, and their toddlers with the other – I salute you.

To all the mommas with babies strapped to their fronts, rocking yogic squats while they wrangle suddenly top-heavy toddlers into snow pants – I salute you.

To the mothers who drive up to the bus stop as the bus pulls away –
To the mothers who drop f-bombs because they’re so frustrated –
To the mothers drenched in sweat and limp as a dishrag by 8:37 AM –

I salute you.

I don’t ask whether you need help because I think you can’t handle it. I ask because I know you can, but even the slightest way to make these machinations easier is a blessing. I ask because, seeing you, I have flashbacks to those hellish mornings; because I’m so grateful that level of hell is done – that I’ve moved on to a slightly lesser one. I ask because I never would have asked someone else for help.

You rock, all you mothers. You’re doing it. I salute you. I’m also here for you.

‘Cause we all need to let out a primal scream – or war cry – from time to time . . .