“I hope my daughter remembers all my f-bombs. Honestly, you don’t hear that a lot, but it’s true.
Sure, I hope she doesn’t inherit the language of a sailor, but I hope she knows nothing about being a mom came organically to me.
I hope she remembers that even though I was a mediocre baker and rarely made a balanced meal for dinner, I still put on bombshell-level living room dance parties on the regular. That I threw down during “Encanto.”
I hope she remembers that even though I said ‘no’ to 679 treats on the daily for literal years, I still went to every Target within driving distance looking for the outfit she wanted for her birthday party.
I hope she knows we are not designed to be perfect.
I hope she remembers even though she likes to live on the wild side, I always made her buckle up. I always kept us safe.
I hope she remembers that following every unhinged conversation we had, and through every disagreement, it closed with hugs and open-ended love.
I hope she knows none of it was easy and that mommy tried so very hard.
I hope she knows her mom tried to find balance in a world that offers little of that.
I hope she knows when we arrive at a scene incapable of balance, to a world that seems almost designed for chaos…
That we all still deserve a little grace.
And when she arrives at a place in her life where she is expected to be perfect, I hope she faces it with integrity, sass, and poise just like I teach her each day. All the grace I give.
And when she does, I hope she thinks…
‘I got it from my mama.’
Because when it comes down to it…
She really did.”
This story was submitted to Love What Matters by Wallflower Writing at Detroit Moms. You can follow her journey on Instagram and her website. Submit your own story here and be sure to subscribe to our free email newsletter for our best stories, and YouTube for our best videos.
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