What I Want

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 I want to encourage. Be a mother of soft edges, and pushed lines that end with a knowing smile and open arms when things don't go as planned, but at least they went... 

I want independence to be the order of the day. Followed by unconditional love, placed softly on a china plate beside your glass of water when its time for bed. 

I want experience to be their teacher. I want my children to know that I love them beyond all else, and that besides wanting them to be safe and godly, I want them to be patient, self-assured, courageous, kind, and happy. 

Anxiety and fear will be swept away with the cobwebs at the start of the day. Begone parental paranoia and desperate attempts at control. You have no place in the home of my dreams. 

I could cry over the nights of my childhood lost to inconsolable tears. I weep over the hours gnawed short by worry-worry that she wouldn't love me if I made the wrong choice, worry over their disapproval. Worry that I was not and never had been, and surely never would be enough. And worse yet, my throat constricts over the thought that maybe there are more days and nights like these to come. I cry for myself. I fight for my children. Children I'm not sure I want. Children I'm sure I want to be loved far better than I have been. 

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