Dreams Do Come True

I wrote this a couple of years ago

and though much has changed in our lives since then,

one thing remains the same…

I LOVE being a mother to my little Neville’s!

Hope you enjoy 🙂

I remember as a young girl,

I would day dream about becoming a mother some day.

I would try to imagine what the faces of my children may

look like and what their personalities might be like.

I would pretend that my dolls were real and I took great care of them.

My grandma knew how much I loved my dolls,

so one year she surprised me and threw a birthday party for my favorite doll!

She baked a cake, had a couple of presents for my doll baby, Sarah, and she

even invited some family members to enjoy the celebration!

Needless to say…I was thrilled!

I wasn’t terribly consumed by the thought of becoming a mother right away.

I just knew that in my future, I wanted to be a mother.

  Naturally, most little girls think about the day they will become a mother.

 I dreamed of giving my children bubble baths, spiking his hair and curling her hair,

rubbing their little toesies with baby lotion,

picking out cute clothes and dressing them up for Sunday School.

Although motherhood isn’t quite like the dreams that I had as a girl,

 it still far surpasses anything I had ever dreamt of it being!

I have learned that there is much more to this parenting scene than

bubble baths, lotion and cute clothes.

Along with the cute bouncy curls, the beautiful dress and those pretty sparkly shoes

 comes a little person

that I am now responsible for.

I am responsible for her well being, for her health, for her education

and her spiritual knowledge.

I am to teach her how to be a lady, to be kind, to share, to love,

to know the love of Jesus and share it with others.

Along with the handsome little boy, spiked up hair and cute little vest

comes a little person as well.

He needs to be nurtered and taught too and though it may be a great responsibility,

what an honor it is that my dream of becoming a mother

is now my reality!

Playing with my dolls never prepared me for the real, kicking, screaming baby

that is hungry and is not waiting for me to finish what I’m doing in order

to feed him.

My cute little plastic dolls never prepared me for the nights I would sit up with

a sick child in my arms, singing and praying for

her health to return.

My pain resistant dolls never prepared me for skinned knees, broken bones

and bruises.

I now know things I never learned while playing with dolls…

I will never again read a newspaper without asking “What if that had been MY child?”

When I see pictures of starving children I wonder if anything could be worse than watching your child die and not being able to do anything about it.

You might arrange for childcare, and as you excitedly make your way out the door for a night out to dinner with the hubby, you will think of your baby’s sweet smell and fragile needs and wonder if you should leave after all.

You will have to use every ounce of your discipline to keep from running home, just to make sure your baby is alright. Everyday decisions will no longer be routine.

 Although I felt that I loved my dolls so very much, they didn’t prepare me

for the extreme deep love that I felt when the nurse placed

each of my children in my arms for the first time.

I now know the faces and all the beautiful features of each of my 4 children.

I know their personalities, their likes and their dislikes.

I know their favorite things and their least favorite things to do.

I get to celebrate real birthdays…

I get to teach them about Jesus and how He loves them!

I get to give bubble baths, curl hair and

dress them up for sunday school.

I get to hug and kiss them

every night before bed and every morning before school.

I get to know the love of a child

and the joy of being a mother!

Dreams Do Come True!

This morning, like every morning I got up to get ready for the day.

As I reach down to wash my face, I noticed

a piece of paper with red letters.

I picked it up and began to read.

Tears of love and joy filled my eyes

as I read this precious letter of love from my 9 year old, sweet girl….

Here is my letter of response….

Before I Became Your Mother

I never knew…
how happy I would feel when you smile,
I never knew…
how sad I would feel when you cry,
I never knew…
how heartwarming it would be to watch you grow,
I never knew…
how much love my heart could hold,
And now…
I will always know.

Author: Linda De Los Reyes

The following is something a mother wrote about her grown daughter

who was thinking about having a baby of her own. The Author is unknown but this is

so worth sharing, hope you enjoy it as much as I did….


(Author Unknown)

We are sitting at lunch when my daughter casually mentions that she and her husband are thinking of “starting a family”.

“We’re taking a survey,” she says, half-joking. “Do you think I should have a baby?”

“It will change your life,” I say, carefully keeping my tone neutral.

“I know,” she says, “no more sleeping in on weekends, no more spontaneous vacations….”

But that is not what I meant at all. I look at my daughter, trying to decide what to tell her. I want her to know what she will never learn in childbirth classes. I want to tell her that the physical wounds of child bearing will heal, but that becoming a mother will leave her with an emotional wound so raw that she will forever be vulnerable.

I feel I should warn her that no matter how many years she has invested in her career, she will be professionally derailed by motherhood.

That a five year old boy’s desire to go to the men’s room rather than the women’s at McDonald’s will become a major dilemma. That right there, in the midst of clattering trays and screaming children, issues of independence and gender identity will be weighed against the prospect that a child molester may be lurking in that restroom.

However decisive she may be at the office, she will second-guess herself constantly as a mother.

Looking at my attractive daughter, I want to assure her that eventually she will shed the pounds of pregnancy, but she will never feel the same about herself. That her life, now so important, will be of less value to her once she has a child. That she would give it up in a moment to save her offspring, but will also begin to hope for more years – not to accomplish her own dreams, but to watch her child accomplish theirs.

I want her to know that a cesarean scar or shiny stretch marks will become badges of honor. My daughter’s relationship with her husband will change, but not in the way she thinks.

I wish she could understand how much more you can love a man who is careful to powder the baby or who never hesitates to play with his child. I think she should know that she will fall in love with him again for reasons she would now find very unromantic.

I wish my daughter could sense the bond she will feel with women throughout history who have tried to stop war, prejudice and drunk driving.

I hope she will understand why I can think rationally about most issues, but become temporarily insane when I discuss the threat of nuclear war to my children’s future.

I want to describe to my daughter the exhilaration of seeing your child learn to ride a bike. I want to capture for her the belly laugh of a baby who is touching the soft fur of a dog or a cat for the first time. I want her to taste the joy that is so real, it actually hurts.

My daughter’s quizzical look makes me realize that tears have formed in my eyes. “You’ll never regret it.” I finally say. Then I reach across the table, squeeze my daughter’s hand and offer a silent prayer for her, and for me, and for all of the mere mortal women who stumble their way into this most wonderful of callings.


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