Mother's Day Miracle

When I was about thirteen years old I was perfectly molded in the opinions of the current society. I had my life all planned out, and was sure that my plans were socially pleasing to all of my friends. I was also sure that my plans would ensure that I wouldn't turn out like my mother, who at the time was a person I didn't really care about pleasing that much. You got it, I was a run of the mill, “know it all and going to do it better than my parents”, teenager. The only problem was I didn't really know what “better” meant because I was only seeing the popular social perspective.

This was the plan: I was going to go to college and get a degree in psychology, go on a mission for my church, get married to a really cute guy, and be a career woman. The picture allowed for a couple of children too, but those weren't the important thing, the career was. I was pretty sure I knew that being a mom meant being a victim. Moms were weak. They didn't do anything worth while. No one seemed to care much about mothers. They didn't get praised, and they were always tired. Picking motherhood was picking the road to plainness and maybe even depression in my very narrow opinion.