Being a mother had become a blend of emotional and physical effort

Once upon a time there was a little girl who had hair the color of chocolate and a heart of gold. The girl had a smile that made her mother laugh and melt and cry. Sometimes the little girl screwed up her face and stamped her feet and waved her hands, but that only made her tantrums all the more adorable.

Her mother loved her with the power of a thousand suns. She danced with the little girl in the kitchen, composing silly songs. She made puppet shows, chased away the shadows on the wall, and read her daughter story after story.

And the little girl grew up.

She began nursery and kindergarten and was the life of the party. The class began learning ABCs and CVC words. But forming CAT and HUT and BED and PIN with playdough weren’t as important to the little girl as forming stars and fish and a sun. The little girl was too absorbed in her world of preschool fun to notice the words making up the pictures in her world.

The mother looked on, and a tinge of concern settled in her gut. More kids joined the family. A girl and girl and a boy. Life became hectic. There was running to work, running a house, running on autopilot. Being a mother had become a blend of emotional and physical effort.

And then the phone calls began.