Dear Marina and Taylor:
The mom that I want to be lets you confidently take all of life's risks without sweating, worrying, or obsessing. The mom that I am cuts carrots into bites so small a four-day-old could eat them, does not let you sleep with clothes that contain buttons (because, hello people, choking hazard!), and screams CALL THE AMBULANCE! IMPENDING SPINAL CORD INJURY! when you are climbing on the playground like normal children with mothers who do not scream things that are completely insane. (I'm so sorry that you cannot pick your mom.)
The mom that I want to be cooks you healthy and nutritious meals, served effortlessly with a smile. The mom that I am re-heats your father's leftovers (at least you have one parent who can properly provide sustenance?), tries not to yell at anything between the hours of 5pm and 6pm, and generally fails at doing anything domestic whatsoever.
The mom that I want to be is strong, does not cry and handles life without emotional highs or lows. The mom that I am could not form complete sentences between the sobs on the days each of you were born, made Britney Spears look stoic the day you first said "I love you mama" and pretty much fell apart the day I realized that your dad was not even one percent joking when he said he was going back to work.
The mom that I want to be will not call the pediatrician asking him what serious disease you have because you are always walking your tiptoes, won't Google "is it because of me that my child is a genius?" and definitely won't put you to bed many nights in a row without a bath because she is tired. (The mom that I am has done all of these things.)
The mom that I want to be will never exist. (She sounds kind of lame anyway, right?) The mom that I am was born the day that you were. The mom that I want to be will incessantly chirp annoyingly good ideas into my head. The mom that I am will always win, oftentimes picking the non-dr-sears-but-better-for-my-sanity option.
I love you.
The Mom That I Am. (Yours.)
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