I wish I could give you a perfect mother. As it is, you have inherited a broken woman. I eat too much, I drink too much, I swear more than your grandma would want me to. I don't always make the best decisions on how to spend my money.
I have terrible fashion sense and I hate wearing makeup. I prefer flip flips to any other type of shoe. My eyebrows are always overgrown. I don't remember the last time I shaved my legs.
I cry when I am stressed, frustrated or overwhelmed. I cry when I am angry or tired. I cry when I am overjoyed and filled with love.
I talk too much. I talk too loud. Sometimes I say things that are hurtful.
I forget things that I said I would do. I procrastinate.
I am no good at keeping a journal, calendar, planner or for that matter, even my blog.
As you grow you will see that my armor has been chipped, that I am covered in bandaids trying to cover up the injuries my heart has suffered. The perfect mother that you see through infant eyes will melt away and what will be left is just me.
Me. Your mama.
I am broken but I heal a little when I hold your tiny hands. I look for ways to get better when I catch you looking at me. Your smile reminds me that there is good inside me.
I love deeply. I am passionate. I am creative.
I always give my best. I work hard.
I value relationships ahead of material items. I love all sorts of people, but I have a soft spot for talking to old men.
I know how to make sacrifices. I can make tough choices. I have chosen to do the right thing against popular demand.
I value life. I love travel. I appreciate language, culture and history. I have faith in God.
I have a sense of humor. I enjoy quiet time for prayer. I can sit in the woods or on sandy shores for hours and just appreciate the greatness of the earth.
I am not the perfect mother. But I am all you get. And I promise to give you all I have.