This is a horrible way to wake up.
And then something weird happened.
I made myself an uncommonly large cup of coffee, put my son Ezra down for his nap, and thought about what I wanted him to be someday. I thought about what I wanted him to remember about my life; the things I wanted him to carry with him forever.
We all know those moments... the ones we remember from our own childhoods...the moments that shaped who we are today. And I have so many. My parents were characters. They lived and breathed drama, they spoke loudly, and were not shy about their opinons. I remember so much of them... and those memories are priceless.
So what will Ezra remember? What will he choose to take with him into adulthood? Will he remember when I spilled my coffe all over myself and the floor, and spent the whole day scrubbing the carpet, and cursing under my breath? I barely noticed him sitting 5 feet away... watching my every move.
Will he remember the fights my husband and I were too lazy to keep private? Will he remember my angry voice, shouting at the man I love? The man that has given so much of himself to ensure our happiness?
What about the moments I didn't even realize were happening? Like when I was applying lipstick before Steven was coming home from work? Or when I was judging every article of clothing I owned as "unworthy" because I wasn't satisfied with my lot? Gosh I hope he doesn't remember when I was looking at myself in the mirror, wishing I was taller, thinner, more lovely...
I hope he doesn't remember the times I spoke evil against my neighbor... Or the times I decided I was better than the the girls in some social circle or another...
I pray he doesn't remember the horrible moments when I chose to put my needs & wants above his.
NO. I cannot let that be his story.
I want him to remember the times I chose to keep my mouth shut, instead of joining in on bashing another individual. I want him to cherish the moments where I gave thanks for the beautiful things I own, instead of counting it all as worthless because it's not the American ideal I was taught to covet from childhood.
I just want to be a good mom. I want my son to respect me for who I am, and not out of obligation because I raised him.
I want my son to have everything. I want him to have the very best of me.