I was going to write about all those cute things that you hear as a mother. You know, those tantrums with little ones flushed with rage or intolerable despair, snot-nosed and eyes bloodshot that you see floating around social media: we HAD to wash our hands, I couldn’t keep the receipts, I had to wear pants. Well, maybe not so cute at the time, but entertaining and worth remembering to say the least. They are amusing our miniature people we are raising into what we hope will be (semi) adjusted adults not in therapy for some life-altering decision we made.
What’s been on my mind, however, as Mother’s Day looms is finding joy in my children’s happiness. Sure, it’s always been there; from day one in fact. From the moment our child is born we are wired with primal instincts to protect our young. I have felt it throughout the years. It’s a wave of protection that overcomes and kicks our reactions into high gear. I am mother bear and you will hear me roar. We take pride in their accomplishments. That first smile, steps, “I love you” makes every moment worth every tear and sleepless night. But what happens after our littles no longer toddle and they bloom into young adults. I am on the edge of watching this myself.