On June 26, 2019 at 6PM I gave birth to a handsome little human named Joseph. Nobody can ever prepare you for the mental state that Motherhood can place you in. When I first laid eyes on that little boy he was and still is the purest form of love that I have ever had the chance to be in the presence of. When I found out that I was going into labor I was in disbelief. See JoJo (as I like to call him) is my rainbow baby. I miscarried an angel last year April 28, 2018. After losing that little angel I told myself that I didn't want to be pregnant again until I had reached this point of financial stability but I guess God had other plans in mind. Some days I look at him and I am so completely and utterly afraid of failing him because in my head, I was supposed to be much more prepared for him than what I am but the truth is you're never really “prepared” for motherhood. I look at him some days and I remember the innocence that I used to hold and how life kind of snatched that away from me and I dread the thought that it'll do the same to him. When I look at JoJo, I see someone that is carefree and taken care of, not a worry in the world and I wonder about the man that he will grow up to be. I wonder will I be able to truly teach him how to be a man when I am a single mother and I have no male influences to be around him. JoJo is only 3 months old at this moment and I am afraid, I am happy but I am afraid. There is so much going on in this world and it hurts that I won't always be able to protect him like my mother wasn't always able to protect me. I watch him as he constantly smiles and I pray that that smile never fades away, I pray that he always remains happy although I am very aware that some days he'll find it hard to smile but I can't help but to hold on to the hope that his good days will forever outweigh the not-so good days. I imagine the motivating things that I will tell him when he gets to the point that he can respond to me. Nobody can prepare you for the sleepless nights that you may encounter, not because he's up crying but because you're up crying because your worried about what kind of future can you help create for him when you don't have much. I look at other mothers that have husbands and I think of how lucky they are to have someone to reassure them that everything is going to be alright, someone that can pick up the slack when you're having an off day. I find it funny how even though we are truly never alone in our feelings and emotions that somehow, we still feel as though we are even though there are many women out in the world at this very moment dealing with the same thoughts and feelings. We have taught ourselves to bottle those feelings up because we must remain strong, we must wear this mask, a mask that says, “Everything is okay!” when it's not, a mask that says, “I have adequate finances to take care of everyone!” when you really don't, a mask that says, “I'm completely energized!” when you're tired and emotionally drained. Someone once approached me and said that I smile a lot and seeing my smile made them happy and brought joy to them because I radiated and I thought to myself, “Well I guess I wear this mask pretty well.” The most insane part about Motherhood is that even though sometimes you don't feel like you're enough, to that little kid, you are their everything and that alone gives you purpose. My heart melts every time I see my little human. In fact, these worries only exist because I love him so much and I want him to have more than what I had growing up and the thought of not being able to provide him with better is a very scary thought to me. I want to tell mothers that it is okay to have these thoughts, they are so natural to have and nothing to be ashamed of. We must take each day one at a time and know that we've got this, that we are Superwomen to them and if our kids can think that highly of us then we should be able to think that highly of ourselves as well. So, have your mom thoughts but remember to pick yourself up at the end of it and genuinely know in your heart that you're doing a great job.

I am on the other side of 35 now and the mother of three awesome children. My son is an amazing person. He is a non-conformist and at times very caring and at other times, he's your stereotypical teenager. He is an artist at heart and I love him fiercely. He is strangely thoughtful and has been this way. At 6 or 7 years old, he surprised me with the questions, “what is love?” and “where does love come from?” Once, right in the middle of his homework assignment he said “Mommy, it must have been hard for you”. Not knowing what he was talking about I said “what are you talking about?” He said “Your mother dying when you were young”. He was wrong. While I am sure my childhood was different than the average person's since you weren't around, I never really dealt with your absence at that age; I began to process it when I was an adult. As a child your death was never something the family spoke about. We just went on living. We moved in with daddy and kept the play button of life on. I went to school, did what was required of me and moved on…until the teenage years. Daddy was a different kind of parent than you were: he favored the strict dad approach and I was very limited in the places I could go. As a result I did a little sneaking around and did some things I probably shouldn't have. But there is nothing I can do about that now. I didn't think I was worse than the average teenager at the time but I certainly wasn't the best. I only had a couple of close friends at the time and I don't know if that was a good or bad thing since she wasn't really the most sympathetic or sensitive person. But she's who I had, and I am grateful for her. Daddy got married to a woman I admire and love very much. She is one of the kindest people I know. She was definitely the motherly type but different than you, which is probably a good thing you know? If she seemed like she was a replacement for you maybe we wouldn't have gotten along. She was a worrier, always worried about other folks having what they need and often neglecting herself. I can't recall one bad experience with her. You were a different kind of mother; I like to think I somewhat take after both of you, you know? You were a creative, a poet who loved music and danced with me and sis all the time. I remember spending nights by granny listening to ‘Lady in Red' on my Walkman, smelling freshly baked bread in her oven. Those were much simpler times. It's been a bit more complicated in my adult life. I miss you most now because I am struggling with being a grown-up. Somehow, I feel like I don't understand what it means to be a woman because you were not here to teach me the rules. I don't know how to balance being a mom and a wife. Heck, I don't even think I am doing the being a mom thing right, and now that I have a teenage step-daughter and my 4 year old, I feel like I may not be preparing them for life as a woman. Sometimes I think that not knowing was an advantage for me but at other times I feel like life would've been easier if I would just follow the rules and conform. Would I want to teach my kids to conform to societal rules? Probably not, but I do think life would be easier if I could find that sweet spot between conforming and doing my own thing…I believe that is where life becomes easier to navigate. Either way, I suck at the balancing act of working full time, (full time and half actually) and being a mother. Not just a mother but a loving mommy that has the energy to play with the kids and clean and cook wholesome foods and not feel like I'm losing my mind doing that and forsaking my own desires to be who I truly am (which is not always kid friendly). I do not believe I am defined by this thing called being a mother and feel profoundly selfish for even having the thought of being something besides that. Realistically, I know you were more than a mother, but I suppose that is all I saw, and you seemed happy that way. Why do I struggle with that? I am most bothered by not being able to ask you for advice. It sucks that I can't sit with you as an adult and have a conversation with you, something I enjoy doing with daddy and my step-mother. It disturbs me that you will never hold any of your grandchildren and they will never know what you smell like (I still remember after all of these years). They will never know the awesome person you are, and they will never truly understand why I am so bummed out every mother's day and every August 28th (yes, I still remember your birthday). I'm not ready to leave my kids, but I am sure looking forward to seeing you again. I just want to talk to you. Take care of yourself. I hope you read this letter. With love, Your daughter.