By many counts i am a Difficult mother. With a tight jawed glare i scold without a word. Loving order and tidiness A chore is always available for you. i do not have stamina for Endless playing, Or the patience for Fantastical stories. i am adept at extracting fun from nearly any adventure. i repeat myself until i, too, become bored of my sage advice. With fears grooved into my brain, my power unseized and dreams unfulfilled, i pass these on as a blueprint for living. i cannot imagine how it would be to be my child. When you laugh unfettered and carefree, i may loosen into a smile, or Shudder and crave an underground cave. Your patterns are familiar, until they become unknowable. We build a routine, until it crumbles. Mothering, for me, encompasses all of these things, and that is why i find it difficult. But, i suppose, without the peaks and valleys of the EKG, we would be pronounced dead. But sometimes, i can’t bear to feel incompetent one single minute more, then i speak the right words, at an appropriate moment, with the right intonation, it is met with understanding, and i loosen into a smile, until ...
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I love the honesty in this piece- we may all feel a little bit this way! Such a delicate balancing act.