For when a child is born the mother also is born again.

Hearken to the words of Gilbert Parker, who spoke with timeless insight: “For when a child is born the mother also is born again.” In this utterance lies a mystery older than temples and deeper than rivers—the mystery of transformation through love. For it is not only the child who comes forth from the womb, but the mother who emerges anew, reshaped in spirit, awakened to a life that did not exist before. A woman, once only herself, now carries within her the sacred name of mother, a name born of both pain and triumph, both fragility and strength.

Consider what it means to be “born again.” Birth is not gentle; it is a tearing, a breaking, a passage through trial into light. So too is the making of a mother. She is not merely the same soul with a new role, but a being transformed. Where once her life’s purpose was her own, it is now tethered forever to another. Her heart beats not for herself alone, but for the fragile life entrusted to her. Thus, in the very moment that a child first cries, a mother’s spirit is reborn into selfless devotion.

The ancients knew this truth, though their tongues gave it different names. Among the Greeks, Demeter’s grief and joy at the loss and return of Persephone revealed the dual nature of motherhood—sorrow intertwined with renewal. In the East, mothers were often likened to rivers, who sacrifice their own waters so that fields might flourish. And in all lands, poets and sages declared that in bearing and raising the young, women crossed a threshold into a new existence, a second life where the self is broadened, deepened, sanctified.

Look too to the story of Saint Monica, mother of Augustine. Her life before his birth was one of ordinary concerns, but when she became his mother, she was reborn with fierce devotion. Through years of anguish as her son strayed into error, she never ceased to pray, to weep, to hope. When at last Augustine was transformed into one of the greatest lights of the Church, it was said that Monica’s motherhood had been her true rebirth, giving her a purpose beyond herself. Her own identity was remade, not once but continually, through the love that bound her to her child.

Thus the meaning of Parker’s words becomes clear: that motherhood is not an addition, but a rebirth. It is not simply life continued, but life transfigured. A woman’s soul must expand to hold both her own being and the fragile flame of another. And though this rebirth is wrought in labor and often in suffering, it bestows upon her a strength and tenderness greater than she ever knew before.

The lesson for those who hear is profound: never take lightly the transformation that comes with bearing and raising a child. To the mother, know that your struggle is not in vain, for in giving birth, you yourself are given a new birth—an opportunity to grow in love, patience, and courage. To the child, remember that in your first breath, your mother, too, was reborn. Honor her, for her life was remade in order to give you life.

Practical actions follow from this teaching. If you are a parent, embrace the trials of this second birth, for they are the forge of your new self. Reflect on the ways you have been remade since your child entered your life, and give thanks for the transformation. If you are a son or daughter, speak words of gratitude to your mother, acknowledging not only the gift of your birth but the rebirth she herself endured. And if you are yet without children, prepare your spirit with reverence for the journey, knowing that in bringing forth life, you too will be reborn.

So let these words be passed down: that every birth is two births, every cry of the child is also the cry of the mother’s new life. And in this holy mystery, we glimpse the eternal law—that love, when it gives itself away, does not diminish, but is born again into greater fullness.