Got it From My Mama.

I hope my kid remembers all my f-bombs. 

Honestly, you don’t hear that alot– but I hope she does.

Sure, I hope she doesn’t inherit the language of a sailor, but I hope she knows nothing about being a mom came organically to me.

I hope she remembers that even though I was a mediocre baker and rarely made a balanced meal show up for dinner, I still put on bombshell-level living room dance parties on the regular.

I hope she remembers that even though I said NO to 679 treats on the daily for LITERAL years, that I still went to every target in driving distance looking for the outfit she wanted for her birthday party.

I hope she remembers that following every unhinged conversation we had, and through every disagreement, it closed with hugs and open-ended-love.

I hope she knows her mom tried to find balance in a world that offers little of that.

I hope she knows that when we arrive to a scene incapable of balance, to a world that seems almost designed for chaos…

 That we all still deserve a little grace.

When she does arrive, I hope she faces it with integrity, sass and poise.

And when she does… 

I really hope she thinks: “I got it from my Mama.”