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Being a #girlmom has been an eye-opening experience for me

Being your mother has shown me the immense power of women.

To my daughters,

If there's one thing I know for certain in my life it's this: I am beyond grateful to be your mother. To know you, to be close to you, to help guide you and raise you. I count my lucky stars every single night thanking them for you.

Because I always wanted a daughter.

Nothing against boys, but I just never pictured having sons for some reason. And not because I pictured some glittery pink world with shopping sprees and pigtails and mani-pedis 24/7.

I think it's mostly because of my relationship with your Nana—my mom. I am close with her and I always wanted to cultivate that same relationship as I grew older with daughters of my own—with you.

I now have the privilege and honor to know what mothering daughters is like because I'm the proud mother of you three—three beautiful, courageous, strong little girls. And it has been eye-opening to say the least.

I am in awe of each of you for millions of reasons.

I'm in awe of your big, shiny personality.

Of your strong opinions and how tightly you hold on to them.

I'm in awe of your beauty.

Of the sparkle in your smile and the kindness in your soul.

I'm in awe of your wholehearted ability to love.

Of the way you run to Dad the second he gets home or gently hug me when you know I'm sad.

I'm in awe of your playfulness.

Of the way you use your imagination to craft interesting stories and create magical worlds around you.

I'm in awe of your intuition at such a young age.

Of how you know when someone needs to laugh or cry. How you know when someone needs to feel special or when someone needs a hug or a hand to hold.

I'm in awe of your bravery.

Of the way you can stand on a stage and sing or dance to your heart's content. Of the way you can make friends with anyone.

I'm in awe of your ability to nurture.

Of the way you rock your doll or pretend to breastfeed her. Of the way you "serve me lunch" or "make me soup" when I'm feeling sick.

I'm in awe of your passion, your fiery side.

Of your intelligence, of how quickly you catch onto something. Of how hard you go after something when you want it.

Being your mother has shown me the immense power of women.

You have taught me to fight for what is just.

You have helped me to see the good in others.

You have encouraged me to speak up for myself.

You have given me the strength to do whatever is best for my family—for you.

You have humbled me—to do better, to be better, and to learn from others.

You have inspired me to believe in myself, you've made me a more confident version of myself.

I may be the one raising you girls, but you three continually remind me to rise to the call of motherhood. So thank you. Thank you for coming into my life, shaking things up, and demanding I work to be the best version of myself every day.

I had a lot of different expectations of what being a mom of daughters would be like, but I think what I've been most surprised with is the fact that you have made me not only a much better mother and wife—but a much better woman.

I hope you fully understand that one day.

I hope so many things for you.

I hope that big personality brings you a strong and supportive inner-circle of friends.

I hope you are able to appreciate the beauty of this world of ours. That you can notice the splendor in a field of wildflowers or the magic in the ocean air.

I hope your wholehearted ability to love brings you the love of a good human with whom you can walk through life with.

I hope your playfulness brings you laughter every single day.

I hope your intuition brings you the ability to trust yourself in making good decisions.

I hope your bravery brings you the habit of betting on yourself.

I hope your nurturing ways brings you children (if that's where your path takes you…) one day. To care for, to cherish, to guide.

I hope your passion brings you the career you want, the dreams you want; the life you imagine.

I hope your strength brings you the desire to work hard and the knowledge that it's worth it to do so.

I'm sure there are some things or feelings I am missing out on by not having a son. But I just may never know what those things are. And I'm okay with that—because you girls are my world.

And this world—while not totally glittery pink—is filled with quite a bit of sparkle and braids and requests to "paint nails and twirl in our poofy dresses" to songs from Tangled and The Princess and the Frog.

But it's also filled with roughhousing, couch jumping, fort building, bug holding, dirt digging, football throwing, puddle stomping, mess making, bear growling, dinosaur hunting, and so much more.

I look forward to seeing how our relationship grows and evolves over time. I won't fool myself—I'm sure we'll encounter... (what shall we call them?....) hardships over the years. After all, I was a teenage girl myself once upon a time. (Ask Nana about those years. Actually… maybe don't.)

But just as my mom and I made it through the ups and the downs, we will, too. I want you to know that I'm always here for you—no matter what obstacle you're facing. I never want you to be scared to come to me with anything. I will always listen. I will always respect you. And I will always love you, with all my heart, for the rest of my life.

Thank you for all the joy and sparkle you bring to my life every single day.

I love you,

Mama

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My first baby and I were alone in our Brooklyn apartment during a particularly cold spring with yet another day of no plans. My husband was back at work after a mere three weeks of parental leave (what a joke!) and all my friends were busy with their childless lives—which kept them too busy to stop by or check in (making me, at times, feel jealous).

It was another day in which I would wait for baby to fall asleep for nap number one so I could shower and get ready to attempt to get out of the house together to do something, anything really, so I wouldn't feel the walls of the apartment close in on me by the time the second nap rolled around. I would pack all the diapers and toys and pacifiers and pump and bottles into a ginormous stroller that was already too heavy to push without a baby in it .

Then I would spend so much time figuring out where we could go with said stroller, because I wanted to avoid places with steps or narrow doors (I couldn't lift the stroller by myself and I was too embarrassed to ask strangers for help—also hi, New Yorkers, please help new moms when you see them huffing and puffing up the subway stairs, okay?). Then I would obsess about the weather, was it too cold to bring the baby out? And by the time I thought I had our adventure planned, the baby would wake up, I would still be in my PJs and it was time to pump yet again.

Slowly, but surely, and mostly thanks to sleep deprivation and isolation, I began to detest this whole new mom life. I've always been a social butterfly. I moved to New York because I craved that non-stop energy the city has and in the years before having my baby I amassed new friends I made through my daily adventures. I would never stop. I would walk everywhere just to take in the scenery and was always on the move.

Now I had this ball and chain attached to me, I thought, that didn't even allow me to make it out of the door to walk the dog. This sucks, I would think regularly, followed by maybe I'm not meant to be a mom after all.


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I never wanted to be a mom. It wasn't something I ever thought would happen until I fell madly in love with my husband—who knew very well he wanted children. While he was a natural at entertaining our nephews or our friends' kids, I would awkwardly try to interact with them, not really knowing what to say or do.

Our first pregnancy was a surprise, a much-wanted one but also a unicorn, "first try" kind of pregnancy. As my belly grew bigger, so did my insecurities. How do you even mom when you never saw motherhood in your future? I focused all my uncertainties on coming up with a plan for the delivery of my baby—which proved to be a terrible idea when my dreamed-of unmedicated vaginal birth turned into an emergency C-section. I couldn't even start motherhood the way I wanted, I thought. And that feeling happened again when I couldn't breastfeed and instead had to pump and bottle-feed. And once more, when all the stress from things not going my way turned into debilitating postpartum anxiety that left me not really enjoying my brand new baby.

As my baby grew, slowly so did my confidence that I could do this. When he would tumble to the ground while learning how to walk and only my hugs could calm him, I felt invincible. But on the nights he wouldn't sleep—whether because he was going through a regression, a leap, a teeth eruption or just a full moon—I would break down in tears to my husband telling him that he was a better parent than me.

Then I found out I was pregnant again, and that this time it was twins. I panicked. I really cannot do two babies at the same time. I kept repeating that to myself (and to my poor husband) at every single appointment we had because I was just terrified. He, of course, thought I could absolutely do it, and he got me through a very hard pregnancy.

When the twins were born at full term and just as big as singleton babies, I still felt inadequate, despite the monumental effort I had made to grow these healthy babies and go through a repeat C-section to make sure they were both okay. I still felt my skin crawl when they cried and thought, What if I can't calm them down? I still turned to my husband for diaper changes because I wasn't a good enough mom for twins.

My husband reminded me (and still does) that I am exactly what my babies need. That I am enough. A phrase that has now become my mantra, both in motherhood and beyond, because as my husband likes to say, I'm the queen of selling myself short on everything.

So when my babies start crying, I tell myself that I am enough to calm them down.

When my toddler has a tantrum, I remind myself that I am enough to get through to him.

When I go out with the three kids by myself and start sweating about everything that could go wrong (poop explosions times three), I remind myself that I am enough to handle it all, even with a little humor.


And then one day I found this bracelet. Initially, I thought how cheesy it'd be to wear a reminder like this on my wrist, but I bought it anyway because something about it was calling my name. I'm so glad I did because since day one I haven't stopped wearing it.

Every time I look down, there it is, shining back at me. I am enough.

I Am Enough bracelet 

SONTAKEY  I Am Enough Bracelet

May this Oath Bracelet be your reminder that you are perfect just the way you are. That you are enough for your children, you are enough for your friends & family, you are enough for everything that you do. You are enough, mama <3

$35

We independently select and share the products we love—and may receive a commission if you choose to buy. You've got this.

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The American Academy of Pediatrics says that newborns, especially, do not need a bath every day. While parents should make sure the diaper region of a baby is clean, until a baby learns how to crawl around and truly get messy, a daily bath is unnecessary.

So, why do we feel like kids should bathe every day?

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