My daughter is four years old and to hold her chubby little hand while she sleeps is amazing. My son is five, and it worries me that he is such an insecure and anxious little boy. I wish he knew how much I loved him and how I'd do anything to keep him safe, anything to make him happy. They give the best hugs.

Kids are wonderful, so honest about needing love and affection.  Why, as we grow older, do we become coy and manipulative. Why do we see loving as weakness and being loved as a point scored. Kids are so vulnerable yet they are so eager to love. And as adults we fear and avoid vulnerability. I guess it's because kids are innocent, blissfully unaware of how hurt and pain is a certainty, and bound to find you, probably before you properly reach your teens.

But wouldn't it be great to be a child again?  Just to feel true love again?  

Kids complete you, like no parter or spouse can. They give you your true purpose in this world - a vessel to pour your heart into. Until you teach them about God, to them you are God. Isn't that the greatest thing, to have someone adore you, the real you, fat or thin, pretty or not. In the beginning they don't judge you, they demand only love. And love comes in any form to them. But mostly to them love is time. Time spent just being with them. 

I wish I had more time to build blocks, to draw. I wish I worried less about chores, about expected standards of cleanliness. I wish I played more, listened more, took more time to explore these unbelievable little brains.

The guilt lies like a lump in my throat. 

I want to be a better mommy. More than I want anything else in the world I want to be a good mommy. 

I hope my two beautiful angels know how much I love them. I hope they'll know, when they're able to understand, that they were the best thing that has ever happened to me. My son and my daughter are my greatest gift, the best part of me, and all I ever need in the world.

Sometimes I get it wrong - what being a good mommy means. I get confused about what really matters. Toys are less important than the games you play with them. Being at home, is more important than the house itself. And sometimes I'm mistakenly convinced that the chores are important and that I do it for them. When instead I get carried away with chores to impress others. For example, I  worry too much about appearing to be a good mom, attentive to details such as smart cloths for school, where practical and clean cloths would be just fine. I worry too much that I'm being judged ,as a mom, by other mothers, by other people in general. When in fact the only people whose opinions should matter are asleep right now - one in his own little bed, and the other diagonally across my side of the bed.  

I started this post, blinking back tears, on the brink of severe sadness bursting out of me. But in my confused typing I managed to figure something out. I managed to remember that I love my children, and that they love me. However undeserving of that love I might feel at times, they honestly and absolutely, 

unconditionally love me. And that's enough for me.

Alghamdulillah.