Over the last year or so, any time I showed affection or attention to the kids, I was met with scorn and derision. Comforting my crying children was the wrong thing to do, apparently.
Well.
Over the last week, I've had a lot of chances to have hard talks and give hugs and let them know we'll be OK regardless of how things turn out. I looked at my small ones' faces when we were swimming last weekend and realized how much I've missed, not entirely because of their father. Because my depression and work and things, too, but also because parenting them was not his priority. Neither was allowing me to parent them.
So today, I was fairly depressed and crying. And my sons came into the room to hug me. And reassure me. And I shook it off and said to myself, "Esther, go be the mom you've been wanting to be."
Made muffins with Ben, cleaned the kitchen with them running around, took all 3 of them to two different stores during a rainstorm, and am happy to report we mostly did all of that with smiles.
I'll let them watch a movie while I put groceries away and clean up my baking mess, then make cookies with them after dinner. Because of all the things they ask me to do with them, baking is often at the top of the list, and it's far too rainy to go to the park or any of the other stuff they wanted to do this weekend.
And I'll enjoy every minute of it. Even if they cry.
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