Someday, if they ask, and maybe if they don’t, I will tell my daughters that raising them was hard
That it took every last drop of me to mother them in dignity and infinite love
I want them to know that some nights I would spin and spin on the words we said to each other that day
Thinking how I wish I’d said it just a little bit different
I want them to know that I considered just how to answer their questions
Always wondering if my answer sounded as full of wonder as their question did
I want my girls to know that their very existence pushed against the walls of my soul
Making the word ‘mother’ indelible on me
I want them to know that raising them was so powerful an experience of growth and love that it rearranged me permanently
I want them to know that raising them was hard
But it was always the very best kind of hard