I never dreamt of being a mother

Not because the idea of holding my own flesh and blood in my arms for the first time didn't absolutely send palpitations through my aching, lonely heart

Or because I didn't dream of tiny feet racing down the halls of a home I'd share with them and the man I was most in love with - the man I hoped I'd grow old with - immersed gently in his loving embrace

As tiny arms wrapped around my waist, too

I never dreamed of what it'd truly be like to hear the thrum of children's laughter - my own children's laughter - waking me on mundane Tuesday's.

Mostly, I never thought I was worthy of an impressionable child following in my footsteps; they were always too fast, too far apart, too wild for...