Sunday, May 24, 2015

Someone once told me I would be a bad mom.

Someone once told me that I would be a bad mother, because I would allow my children to sleep in my bed.

I remember feeling uncomfortable at the insult, not angry per say, but shifty, like being stuck to a chair too long in the humidity, I wanted the fuck out of that conversation, but the only way out, was to slowly peel backwards.
You can't unsay things once they leave your mouth.
No matter how hard you wish or deny.

Going forward I was scared to death that loving my child too much would be met with disapproval and lectures.

The person who said this would never own up to it.
I have forgiven, of course, because this person would never know what it is to wake with tiny fingers grasping your hand.
Surely, if they could smell the scent of lingering suntan lotion and cherries, they would withdraw their previous claim.

If they knew what it was to have their three year old tuck your hair behind your ear, and whisper, "I love you mama", long before the sun began peeking through the blinds, clearly they would know that only love is here.

I am not a bad mother.

Especially not a bad mother, when my children climb into my bed.

In the midst of elbows and genetic bed hogs, there is only comfort.

Behind the giggles, soft voices and rose scented hair, I can only see my family.

I imagine when they are older, they will look back to our slumber parties with delight. They will know that I am a soft place to land, and I will ALWAYS comfort them. With every bad dream, thunder storm, or broken heart.

This does not make me a bad mom, this makes me their mom.

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