When I first became a mom, I had ideas.
Not just little ones, but full pictures in my head of how life would look.
What kind of mom I would be.
What kind of home I would create.
Who my kids would grow up to become.
I did not think of it as expectations at the time.
It felt more like hope.
I wanted a doctor.
Two nurses.
A veterinarian.
I wanted stability for them.
Security.
A life that felt a little more certain than the one I had known.
And I worked hard toward that in my own way.
Raising them.
Showing up.
Trying to guide them toward what I thought would give them the best future.
But life does not follow the plans we make in our heads.
And kids are not meant to become our plans.
They are meant to become themselves.
Somewhere along the way, I had to face a quiet truth.
My kids are not who I once imagined they would be.
They are not following the paths I pictured.
They are not fitting into the neat little futures I had hoped for.
And for a moment, that felt like loss.
Not because there is anything wrong with them.
But because I had to let go of the version of their lives that existed in my mind.
That is a hard thing to admit.
As parents, we do not like to say that part out loud.
But here is what I know now.
My kids are good people.
They are strong in ways that do not show up on paper.
They are learning, growing, struggling, and figuring life out in real time.
And they still call me.
When things get hard.
When they need advice.
When they just need someone to listen.
That means something.
Maybe everything.
Because at the end of the day, that was always the goal, even if I did not realize it at the time.
Not perfection.
Not a specific career path.
Not a life that looks impressive from the outside.
But connection.
Trust.
A relationship that lasts beyond childhood.
I am not the mom I thought I would be either.
I have changed.
Life has changed me.
There are things I would do differently if I could go back.
There are things I have had to learn the hard way.
And there are moments where I have questioned myself more than I ever expected to.
But I am still here.
Still showing up.
Still loving them the best way I know how.
Still learning alongside them instead of trying to control the outcome.
And maybe that is what motherhood really is.
Not raising perfect kids.
Not following a perfect plan.
But walking beside imperfect humans as they figure out who they are.
And learning to let them.
So no, my life does not look like I thought it would.
My kids are not who I once imagined.
And I am not the mom I expected to be.
But we are real.
We are connected.
We are still choosing each other, over and over again.
And that is more than enough.
Mothersense and Miscellaneous 