As his former spouse, I know that deep down in there somewhere is a man who wants to do well in the world. Someone who wants to be reconnected to his son, who yearns to prove to the world that he's capable. But as a mom, I put up giant barriers and protectors.
Even though you don't quite know the right thing to say, I'm going to believe that you want to say the right thing. You really want to tell me that I'm an excellent mother and that I'm doing a good job but you don't know how to say that exactly.
I never could have imagined the energy that I felt with you inside me. I anticipated weakness, illness and slower days. Those came but were far and few between. Instead, what was most present during this pregnancy was my creativity.
The amount of stuff was staggering. There were five giant bags of t-shirts, printed onesies, and pants with faces on the seat. There were boxes of tiny shoes and a box of wooden toys. Half of it still had the tags on.
It's not my son's job to fulfill me, make me happy, or give me an identity. That's my job; always has been and always will be. This I know without a shadow of a doubt.
Your smile is truly genuine, completely uninhibited by insecurities. It is unmasked by facade, unlike the smiles of grownups. You don't care that you have no teeth, or that your jaw goes crooked when your grin is stretched to the max.
I count my blessings because the hardships and the successes that come from creating little humans make me a better person. I take less for granted. I know that things are not meant to be perfect. Without the heartache, how would I feel the true happiness that comes with raising kids?
