Sunday, January 12, 2014

Mother and Daughter 1998

Nothing ever changed my life quite as much as giving birth to a baby girl in 1987.  I'd been worried about the kind of mother I would be, and had put off getting pregnant until I was 35, and even then I just wasn't sure of what I was getting myself into.  But not to worry, one look at my black haired baby daughter and I was smitten.  Hook line and sinker, I was hers.

What I didn't know was that being a mother means that you automatically become an official grown up, no matter the age and it was obvious that I didn't quite get this part of being a mom.  Lipstick that isn't applied quite right, a too small, old lady purse, and giant black bosoms as if I had spent my life on a farm in Nebraska.  And of course, tiny, impractical high heels that can't really support the large bulk of a grown up mother-body.  However,  it's clear that this goofy "grown up" mother cherishes  the daughter standing next to her, and that the daughter, with her odd plaid outfit and little legs, understands that she is deeply loved. 

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