Why I Feel It Is Important to Be a Good Mother

Why I Feel It Is Important To Be A Good Mother

Ever since I was a little girl, I always thought that the most important job in the world was to be a mother. Struggling through my own childhood, which encompassed my parent's divorce, a new stepfather, and the overwhelming sense of loneliness, I made a vow to myself that I would make every effort possible to assure that my own children never felt the intense heartache I suffered as a child. It wasn't until my early twenties that I realized where the pain came from. Shortly after my parent's bitter divorce, my mom found a new love, the man she would eventually marry, to spend her time with. Being newly in love and eager to ease the pain the pain she was going through, the two of them did the things that new lovers do. They dove headlong into a deep relationship, leaving little room for a young child, who desperately needed her mother's love and affection. Jet-setting to different parts of the world, working full time, and an active social life seemed to take precedence over raising a child for my mom, and I seemingly became lost in the shuffle. Feeling like a burden on my mother, I was often left home alone or at a relative's home much of the time. Why can't I be included? Does my mom love me? Where do I stand in all of this? I silently wondered. It was during this time that I secretly promised myself, with all of the innocence that seven year olds posses, that one day I would be the kind of mom that would never leave her babies home alone. I would be a loving mommy, the kind that any kid would love to have. I would show the world what it meant to be a mom, and that it was a job not to be taken lightly. As time went by, the message became even more concrete in my head. I came second to my mom's big plans. I attended Cosmetology School while attending High School, and was due to graduate from both schools at the same time. Unfortunately, the big day came while my mom and step-dad were away in Hong Kong for three weeks. I reluctantly trudged through the day dodging questions from inquisitive teachers who inquired where my parents were. I came home to an empty house that night, as usual. Why weren't they here? As I grew older, I never let the promise I made to that seven-year-old escape my mind, and at twenty-six years old I gave birth to my son, Jacob. Having a baby sent memories of my own childhood