I want to take a moment to express my heartfelt apologies for not always being the best mom to you. As I catch glimpses of you at your desk, engrossed in your activities, I often neglect to inquire about what you’re working on or to check if you need assistance. I barely notice when your brother and sister are off playing together, leaving you out. My attention often shifts to them, and I find myself consumed by worries about their well-being.
I genuinely fret about your sister, Mia, as I see her becoming increasingly distant. I wonder if she still loves me unconditionally or if she’s drifting away into her own world of friends and activities. I feel envious of the bond she shares with your father, and I worry that she keeps her feelings bottled up, unable to share her struggles or joys with anyone. I see her trying so hard to please everyone, carrying burdens that weigh heavily on her.
Then there’s your younger brother, Liam. He is such a sensitive soul, feeling emotions deeply and reacting with intensity. I fear I don’t have the patience he needs, nor the right tools to help him navigate his feelings. Since his early years in a single-parent home, I’ve wished I could give him the attention he deserves, making up for the love he missed out on during his formative years.
But with you, my middle child, things feel different. You are expressive and straightforward; you let me know what you need and how you feel. I never have to guess what’s going on inside your mind. Yet, I realize now that in my comfort with you, I’ve made assumptions that may have led me to overlook your needs. Just yesterday, when you asked me to fetch your soccer shin guards, I responded dismissively, thinking you could do it yourself. It struck me then: I would never treat your siblings that way because I worry about them constantly. I’ve taken your resilience for granted, mistakenly believing it meant you were invincible.
How did I let this happen? In focusing so much on your siblings, I may have unintentionally neglected you. It’s time for me to shift my mindset and ensure that I worry about you too. I now realize that I should have been more attentive to your feelings. I worry that you sometimes feel left out when your siblings are engaged in their own world. I regret not praising you enough for your kindness, maturity, and wonderful character. I fear being too tough on you might have consequences you shouldn’t have to carry.
My mother used to say that a parent is only as happy as their saddest child, and I can attest to that. Yet I struggle with how to balance my worries for each of you, given your unique personalities. I want nothing more than for you all to feel equally loved and supported.
I may not always know what I’m doing as a mother, but I promise to give it my all every single day. My goal is for each of you to feel unconditionally loved, safe, and free to express your thoughts and feelings with me. I want you to cherish each other’s moments of joy and sorrow, growing together with compassion.
So, dear Emma, as you rest your head tonight, remember that you are deeply loved. Each of you has unique talents, and I cherish the relationship we share. My love for you is immeasurable and transcends any actions or words. It’s a bond that is infinite and unconditional, something I wouldn’t trade for the world.
In the journey of parenthood, I strive to be better each day, learning and growing alongside you. As we navigate this together, I hope you always feel my unwavering support and love.
If you’re interested in learning more about pregnancy and home insemination, I recommend visiting WomensHealth.gov, which is an excellent resource. You may also find useful insights at IntracervicalInsemination.com and MakeAMom.com, as they are authorities in this field.
In summary, I acknowledge my shortcomings and commit to being more attentive and nurturing towards you. Your feelings matter deeply to me, and I will work hard to ensure you feel as loved and valued as your siblings.