It was twilight as I sat down in the nursery with our baby in my arms. I felt exhausted. One day seemed to blend into the next in a never-ending round of feeding and sleeping, feeding and sleeping. Twilight, however, was my favorite time of day as I rocked and nursed our baby in the semidarkened room. It was a welcome interval of peace and a time to rest from the hurries of the day.
As I hummed and rocked, I looked down at tiny hands tightly grasping my finger and then into our baby’s face with his endearing toothless grin. As my son gave a small sigh of satisfaction, I wondered how many mothers of the 1800s, 1700s, or even the 1600s had looked upon a similar scene. I felt a great bond of sisterhood that night—something I had never experienced before. I realized that I was simply one more link in the long chain of motherhood. I felt as if these mothers of the past—thousands upon thousands of them—had united together and were waiting to buoy me up. Motherhood took on a new meaning for me that night.
As I gently laid my now-sleeping son in bed, I could almost see the hands of the past beside mine as I carefully pulled up the quilt, smoothed my son’s soft head, and bestowed one last goodnight kiss. I shut the nursery door behind me with a silent prayer of thanks for my newfound source of strength—my realization of motherhood throughout the ages.—, Dubuque Ward, Davenport Iowa Stake