Motherhood is wanting to read books and cuddle my almost four year old forever. To press his little face against mine and kiss him and listen to his wild imagination. It is pride at a new word, a new friend made, a new song sung. It is wanting him to grow no bigger so that I can always hold his weight in my arms and feel his body fit against mine. Motherhood is also losing my patience when he asks for one more song, one more story, sixty-nine more minutes of cuddling before shutting his eyes and giving me a respite from the demands and questions that his quick little mind supplies endlessly. It is impatience and frustration at shoes not put on, meals left untouched, being told “no one loves you and that’s the truth.”
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