Every Precious and Fragile Thing

by Barbara Davis

Mothers aren’t supposed to have yesterdays. To our children, we’re blank slates, patiently awaiting their appearance so our lives can finally begin. In their minds, we’ve kept no secrets, dreamed no dreams, committed no sins. But few of us come to motherhood unmarked by life. We’ve had pasts and passions—and yes, regrets. I’ve certainly had my share—and still have. And now she’ll know them all. So be it.