My mother was my world. She was kind and infinitely patient with me. She never lost her temper and always dealt with me justly. I was a lovable terror. I cried all the time if I didn't get what I wanted. This was almost always my mom. I'm not sure what endeared myself to my parents or why they didn't just lose it and beat me one day. Maybe it's because I was their baby, maybe they felt guilty about the divorse, or maybe they just knew that under neath the tantrums was a little spirit just needing to be loved. I've always known that I was loved, and I've held on to that all these years.
I wonder what memories my children will have have of me? Do they know unequivacably that I love them and would do anything for them? Will they realize that I go through each day trying to do what I can to make their day better? Sometimes I just think about my children and cry thinking about not being able to raise them. It's hard to stop crying thinking about what I'd miss without them. My children are so incredibly special to me both individually and collectively. They make my heart full. I strive to be the mother to my children that my mother was to me. I know that I fail miserable sometimes, but I try. Harder than I've tried to ever to do anything else. I've always felt like my mother was with me, and I still strive to make her proud of me. I want to replicate the wonderful things she did for me for my children. It's taken years to figure it out, but we have something in common. We both love our children with all of our hearts. I *HEART* my mom.
And to my MIL, sisters, grandma, aunts and SIL's I *HEART* you!