Yesterday morning started like any other. I went to the kitchen to make my two-year-old her favorite breakfast—scrambled eggs. But when I opened the fridge, I realized we were out. I made her something else, but added “eggs” to the top of my grocery list.

Later that day, after a trip to the park with my three daughters, I planned to swing by the store. But just as I pulled into the parking lot, the sky opened up. Rain came pouring down. I looked in the rearview mirror at three tired little faces and made a decision: skip the store.

Instead, I called my mom.

“Do you have any eggs?” I asked casually, knowing she was coming over for dinner anyway.

“Of course, I’ll check,” she said without hesitation.

That was the end of the conversation—or so I thought.

When she arrived a few hours later, she handed me a plastic grocery bag with a carton of eggs inside.

“Thank you so much. I’m glad you had these,” I said, relieved to have them for the morning.

“Oh, I didn’t,” she replied.

“I went to the store and bought them for you.”

I blinked, caught off guard.
“Omg, you didn’t have to do that. It wasn’t necessary—we could’ve gone tomorrow.”

She smiled and said, softly but firmly:
“Yes, I did. I couldn’t bear to think that my babies didn’t have what they needed.”

And that right there is a mother’s love.

It doesn’t ask for recognition.
It doesn’t wait for thanks.
It just shows up—over and over, rain or shine.

Even when her baby is 34 and has babies of her own, a mother still worries. Still gives. Still shows up with a carton of eggs in the pouring rain because she knows it’ll make her daughter’s day just a little easier.

My mom once told me that now that I have kids, she has even more people to love—and more people to worry about. But her heart has only grown fuller.

Sometimes a mother’s love looks like holding you through heartbreak.
Other times, it’s driving through a storm to bring you eggs.

Both are priceless.
Both mean the world.