“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.”
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