The more time that I give to my son, the less I understand her. I just saw a video on this topic but in the opposite breadth– understanding a mother’s love as you yourself become one. My mom was so often annoyed by hugs, wouldn’t keep me home with her even on the one occasion that I cried for it (she was stay at home but we went to the babysitter every day while my dad worked), and used being her daughter- or rather not getting to be her daughter– as a form of punishment. It’s kind of crazy to think about now, as I continue this dive into what it is now to be a mother to my own son. I’m actually blown away by how quicky those memories and normalcies for me at that time all feel so foreign and unbelievable now. There is no stronger, no bigger, no more beautiful a love and I am embracing it with everything I have until that inevitable day when I am no longer the coolest and bestest in his world. He will always be in mine.