They didn’t tell me that despite my very best efforts, I wouldn’t be able to spare you from pain, or that I would replay scenes over and over in my mind trying to figure out how I could have protected you better.
But if they had — if anyone had been bold and honest enough to tell me how vulnerable my heart would become as a mother; how I’d be walking around the rest of my life with pieces of my soul outside my body and completely outside my control — then they should have mentioned the strength of a mother’s heart, too.
They should have told me that no matter how hard or how dark or how painful, I would find the strength to be strong for you.
They should have mentioned that my love would have the power to mend [boo-boos] and hurt feelings, and that my arms would be the safest place you know.
They should have told me that I’d do absolutely anything within my power to keep you from getting hurt, but that when those painful moments inevitably come, I’d be there. With a band-aid, an ice pack, an encouraging smile, a knowing look, a hand to hold, or a hug that quiets the rest of the world if only just for a second.
So, no. No one warned me about what would happen to my heart when I became your mom.
But I can promise you this: it’s yours, and it will be constant and strong and overflowing with love to get you through everything this life throws your way.
And when it’s not as simple as a bumped head or a cruel word on the playground, my heart will sit with you. It will hold you and grieve with you. It will take on as much of your pain as it can, and it will bear the rest by your side.
Because that’s what mothers do, my love, and that’s what they should have told me.