My mother has always told me that I wouldn’t be able to
understand her love for me until I had a child of my own. Impossible, I would
say, knowing that my love and adoration for her was equal. Having seven months
of motherhood tucked under my belt, I realize now how deep a mother’s love
truly runs. In the days after Lilly’s birth, my Mom and I would spend evenings
just staring at her, spellbound by love and with words so far out of
reach. I’ve spend my entire life
watching my mom; studying her, learning from her mistakes, and capturing her
strong will. At times I’ve resisted so much of her determination and dedication
to motherhood; pushing when I should have been pulling and falling only when
she tried to help me climb. But here I am…with a daughter of my own, who is
bound to test her own limits and fly without wings. I am so grateful for the footsteps I have to
lead my way. Ask me what it means to be
a mom and I’ll tell you it is an unbelievable experience; so unbelievable that there aren’t
any words to describe its beauty, fulfillment, or joy. Ask me what it means to
be the daughter of my mom and I’ll tell you the same.
My very first Mother’s Day wasn’t short of perfection. Bird spent all morning in the kitchen cooking
breakfast in bed for me, and in the days before she picked out the most
beautiful gift at my favorite boutique. She even cleaned the house while the
{fur}boys put away laundry and Brent did the dishes. And then, all together
they took me on a picnic to our favorite park with lunch from my favorite
restaurant. And to finish out the day, Bird promised to entertain daddy while I
planted in the garden and wrote a blog or two. As for the boys; they chose to
help dig in the garden. Happy day for
this Momma.
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