The Me Who Loved Them First,

Did I even know, back then, what I was doing?

When their little boy hands were impossibly small, and their world was safely nestled inside mine—did I realize I was quietly shaping the men they would become?

I think of those long nights—checking their angelic breathing, watching their chests rise and fall, soothing tummy aches through tears, and managing brotherly quarrels with gentle reminders like, “Give your brother two put-ups for the not-so-nice behavior you just showed him.” My body was aching with exhaustion, both mental and physical, but still—I showed up.

I remember the car rides—full of questions, silences, singing to music, unusual travel places, and shared moments that stitched the years together with memory after memory.

The tiny notes and handmade coupons I tucked under pillows, into lunch boxes or Valentine’s goody bags—little reminders of my love.

I made whispered prayers for their safety and the happiness of finding themselves. 

I still do.

I tried hard to make the birthdays and holiday traditions magical—even when I was barely holding myself together.

They’re 24 and 25 now.

Men.

Kind, generous, thoughtful, and equipped with knowledge to navigate the world.

And still, I see flickers of the little boys they once were—in their brown eyes, gestures, and how they sometimes reach for me without even realizing it.

They will never fully know how much I doubted myself; no mother’s manual existed.

How deeply I feared getting it wrong.   I learned and somehow survived by not repeating past patterns of behavior.

Or how fiercely, relentlessly, I loved them—even when I didn’t fully understand how to love myself.  I loved them and would walk to the end of the earth for them.

No one tells you how much of motherhood lives in the shadows.

The sacrifices were never spoken of.

The ache that lingers even as they grow.

The way a mother’s heart stretches, breaks, and still finds the strength to say yes—again and again.

But here I am.

And somehow, through the mess, beauty, heartbreak, and joy, I did something lasting.

I raised good men.

In the process, I found pieces of myself, too.

The things I couldn’t change have changed me.

I can’t rewind time—but there are many moments when I look at myself in the mirror and wonder:

How did I make it through?

How do I keep going?

And then I remember—

I’m no longer the woman I once was.

And I’m still becoming the woman I’m meant to be.

Motherhood has reshaped me in ways I never expected.

And the memories—oh, the memories—are etched forever in my heart.

Raising my two boys has been the greatest accomplishment of my life.

Nothing else compares.

What a ride we’ve been on together.

My heart is full of love, pride, and contentment.

With all the grace I can muster,

Me