Although there are many aspects of mothering that vary widely from place to place and from time to time, I would guess there are at least as many more that are as common to moms ... older, younger, richer, poorer, here or there or everywhere ... as the rhythm of breath going in, then out, and repeating round the clock for as long as it can.

The sudden acceptance of poop as an obvious factor in our lives, for example, or the ability to pick out the cry of your child over a raucous din ... even one made up of other peoples' children competing for parental attention ... appear as threads that connect one mother to the next in an immense quilt of humanity and have us recognizing ourselves in the experience of others sharing our vocation, our passion.

Mother is a verb as well as a noun, and although by definition it's an active verb, there is also a large element of the passive to it ... the part of mothering that is not caused by us, but that happens to us: the flush of pride that comes when our children take a step or show a kindness; the warmth that blooms in our hearts with a kiss, a cuddle, a smile; the tear that comes to our eye at a sweet word, a gentle touch, a caring gesture.

And then, there's the pain.

I know I'm not alone in experiencing a searing attack to the innards at the slightest thought of the potential of approaching harm to my kids and the torment that comes with trying to comfort a child when comforting can't make the pain go away.

Mothers know the agony that walks hand in hand with worry for the future, whether it be for enough food for the next week or global warming that could have our children inheriting an unsustainable planet or the fear of man's inhumanity to man spilling over into the path our kids must tread.

There is also, however, a more gentle sort of pain for moms: the sting of adoration that has us wondering how ever in the world we were lucky enough to be blessed with these treasures; the twinge of potential regret that maybe narrowly saved us from making decisions that would have robbed us of these moments; the insistent tug on the heart that comes every time we're caught off guard by our children's beauty; the persistent throb that wonders if we are truly worthy and deserving of continuing to bask in familial glory.

Yes, we love our kids so much it hurts, and nothing is more wonderful.