on motherhood

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.

love you forever

My parents had a copy of "Love You Forever" that they kept in their bedroom. It wasn't a book that they ever read to us. I remember pulling it out of their armoire and reading it to myself, and then putting back the only kids' book they had in their room. It was cute book, I thought, but I wasn't sure why it wasn't in one of our rooms like the rest of the kid books. My mom told me recently that that book made her cry. I wondered if that was why she never read it to us.

A couple of weeks ago I bought a few Robert Munsch books, including "Love You Forever." I read the other books to my girls the afternoon they arrived in the mail, saving "Love You Forever" until bedtime.

I couldn't get through the book.

After the first few pages I stopped for the first time to wipe away tears. I made it through a couple more pages before stopping again. Finally I quit reading the book entirely because I was uncontrollably sobbing.

Let's be honest. Part of the book is kind of creepy... I mean, the mom sneaks into her grown son's home and rocks him while he is sleeping. I am not even sure that is physically possible. But the premise is absolutely beautiful: that from her son's birth, she wanted to hold him in her arms and tell him how much she loved him.

I so get it now.

I go into my girls' room several times every night after we put them to bed, just to look at them. Some nights, like tonight, my heart aches to hold them. And even though I risk waking them up, even though I know I am supposed to leave them be, my arms reach out to them and I hold them to my chest and I think to myself, "I'll love you forever, I like you for always, as long as I'm living, my baby you'll be."