The Mother Load
BY HEATHER REID
hen I was growing
up, there was one
special spoon that
I loved above all others. It had a thin wooden handle, and the spoon itself was a beautifully shaped oval, the last piece of a set my parents had when they were first married. My mother always remembered my preference and would often set the table with that spoon just for me, a tiny detail that never failed to delight me. That spoon was just one of the countless details she never forgot; a simple act of thoughtfulness was one of her ways of showing love and a reflection of the Mother Load she carried—the unseen emotional load that every mother bears.
Mothers are the ultimate project managers, balancing deadlines and details to keep the business of life together. Because I am a modern woman, I digitize my anxieties into a list of reminders on my phone, and this list lights up even before the sun does.
W