Motherhood, at its core, is a legacy—a quiet offering of lessons learned, mistakes made, and truths slowly discovered.  It's not a perfect road.  It's one paved with sleepless nights, deep uncertainty, and moments where the weight of responsibility feels almost too much.  Especially in those early days, when every piece of advice conflicts with the last and you're left to sort through the noise, hoping  you make the right call.

But over time, something shifts.

You begin to understand the choices your own mother made.  The sacrifices that never came with spotlight.  The silences that now speak volumes.  And in those moments—where your child clings to you in exhaustion or defies you with a spark that mirrors your own—you realize how much you've grown without noticing.

Motherhood isn't just a single memory etched in stone.  It's a thousand flickers of life stitched into the day-to-day.

The time broccoli became "trees."  The way laughter echoes louder when it's from your children's bellies.  The strategic genius of a toddler pushing a couch to reach forbidden shelves.  Or the completely unfiltered hilarity of a metal chair amplifying a very well-times fart during a school meeting.

It's the flash of panic when your child bolts into the street, your body frozen with fear.  It's holding your breath as your youngest is wheeled away for anesthesia, praying harder than you ever thought possible.  It's realizing that they can, and will, throw themselves in the arms of strangers simply because the world hasn't taught them fear yet—and how terrifyingly beautiful that innocence is.

But amidst it all, there's peace.

Peace in the small signs that what you're teaching is sticking.  That your presence matters.  That your love, in all its imperfect forms, is enough.

If I could offer one truth to any mother reading this—whether you're in the thick of it, reflecting from afar, or walking a different version of the path—it would be this: There is no single right answer.  There is only showing up.  Loving them.  Doing what's best for your family and trusting that it's enough.

And yes, motherhood has made its way into my stories.  Not just as a background detail, but as a reflection of all it carries—joy, fatigue, heartbreak, wonder.  Because it deserves to be there.  It needs to be there.

So to every mother, every nurturer, every woman who holds space for someone else's growth—

Happy Mother's Day.  You're doing more than you know.