I tried to be a loving mother and at the same time rigorous, convinced that the little darlings would have satisfied the rules your heart and your mind in preparation for life.
I was proud of my way to being a mother, convinced that even in moderation feelings made sense.
I was convinced that he understood the meaning of empathy, a term often used in courses pre and post adoption. I was convinced
to be a good mother, or at least do my best to be.
Then you woke up last night and to avoid visiting a Latvian father-mother (which happens often lately), I ran into thy closet, and I supported his head on your pillow while remaining out of bed, have continued to move until I'm lying next to you.
In those ten minutes, in a kind of film, I saw all the times in which I criticized a whim not too large, I have not played with you, with supporting commitments of various kinds, I have not picked up and I told you to walk, I demanded from you an education and a penalty which may not be your 4 years.
Last night I realized that empathy is not to think to understand your moods, but try it.
Last night I felt the "pain" that you may have felt for each of the behaviors that I wrote, the "sense of rejection" that I sent you just for not having given more than cuddle or a kind word instead of a scream.
I repeat often to your father "Smile, it costs nothing to you, I change the day."
I with you I did, I realized having you denied the same things that are missing to me.
So I promise that from now on I will try to keep two separate plans, rules-which however should not miss-and way of teaching.
Why a smile more, plus a caress, a kind word to those who are asked are cheap and offer a lot to those who receive it!
I love you!
Mother
nb Gilmore imperfect!
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