Even as I celebrate her growing up, I cannot ignore my desire to be near her, to hold onto her, to feel her on my lap.
“You read to me Mommy?” It isn’t really a question, but more of an emotional appeal.
My dad said I was just like Grandma, who always left out a crucial ingredient or two when sharing recipes long-ago committed to memory.
So I will continue to snuggle her every single night, twice when she needs it. And I will prepare for the day she packs up her stuff and heads out into the big world like the confident courageous girl she is.
In the wake of motherhood when my world feels as though it is crumbling beneath me, I reach for her unwavering strength.
While I want her to grow and thrive, while I want her to be strong and independent, I’m not ready to teach her how to shave.
I hope she remembers that her mom didn't mind rolling her pants up and taking her in the water. Ever. Her mom helped her lead her inherently independent life.
I’ll tell you to rise, even when you are sinking, and I’ll tell you that you don’t do it alone.
You can’t quit. You don’t even want to quit. But at the same time, you wish it wasn’t so damn hard. I know how you feel
When I think about it, I can believe how much he has grown. It is me, the mother, who I do not recognize.