I hear them coming round, the sly hands of the ticking clock. Tick, tick. You're out of time. Rest your pretty rotten head, power down your rapidly firing brain, turn off the finely tuned motherly instincts. Nobody needs you anymore. When the beauty fades, the mind goes, and the kids grow up - who will you be anyway?
It used to be so easy. Being desired and needed. Revered for my so-called fuckability, intelligence, and compassion. You're so pretty and so smart and such a good mommy. What a strange combination, and one that I still question. Anxious people will always downplay their strengths. Even so, I've built an identity around these attributes. I've always been alluring, perspicacious, and maternal. Nobody has ever accused me of being boring. I've always felt of use.
What happens when heads don't turn so easily anymore? When my presence no longer excites him? When, one day, he inevitably stops chasing me down the hall with the fervour of a concupiscent schoolboy? Our bedroom reminiscent of an empty playground.
What happens when people stop showing interest in my words, and stop asking me my thoughts? What happens when my curiousity dies and I no longer care to learn anything new? What happens when I can't remember what I already know?
What will I do when my children stop running into my arms for comfort and guidance? When they turn away hugs and kisses and attach themselves instead to having and wanting and anything else an insentient screen screams at them. What happens when they can learn everything they need to know from surrogate AI mothers and TikTok videos instead of me?
Who will I be when all I am is no longer of use?
Will I even exist at all?
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