I always wanted to be a mom.  I dreamt of the day that I would be that happy, creative mom who does nothing but shower her kids with affection, praise and great memories.  Each day would be an adventure, full of fun, laughter and ice cream sandwiches.  My children would sit at my knees, all kumbayah-style, listening as I sang and played my guitar.  They would run free and filthy, climbing and swinging in trees, digging for earthworms and when arriving home, would enjoy my fresh baked treats and help me slice cucumbers, freshly grown from our garden.  In summertime, they would still have to go to sleep even if the sun hadn’t yet set and they would learn that restaurants were not for yelling and running.  They would know how to speak to adults with respect and how to express their own opinions and beliefs.  A lot of this has happened, just not exactly as planned.  What I hadn’t planned was that I would lose me in the process.

This is the true story of me and my experiences.  I strive to be as honest as I can about those days when I need to remind myself and the world around me that my name isn’t “Mommy” and searching for me in motherhood.


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