I struggled with becoming a Mom. It felt like the biggest and most unfair task there ever was. I just had to call to mind my own mother and her challenges with miscarriages and having to raise two girls after her marriage failed to back away slowly from the mere idea of it. No part of me believed I could survive such a thing. In one sense, I was right. I didn’t survive. I barely resemble who I was before I entered into this contract with my son to raise him as best I can until one of us dies or grows up, whichever happens to come first. Before I was my son’s Mom, I was just a girl. I was full of hopes and fears and big plans to someday grow up and find myself. Maybe I’d find myself thinner and more accepting of myself? Or I might find myself married? I even thought I might find myself happy. Never in my wildest dreams did I think I’d find myself in the middle of motherhood. But that is what happened.