It was not a conscious act on my part, I did not set out to reclaim these memories of my childhood. It was a gift.

It was a typically typical trip to the park. They were off—running, laughing, pretending, fighting, making up—and then off and running again. I was on the bench reading, occasionally glancing up to watch their antics or when they wanted my attention “Mummy, look at me! Did you see that? Are you watching? Look what I can do.”

I attachment parent.

I also dictate.

My children have slept in my bed.

Sometimes I snuck out to sleep in theirs.

I wanted natural child birth.

I begged for drugs.

In my mind I was cloth diapers.

In reality, the disposables called out to me.

I breast fed.

Until I couldn't.

I have spoken to them with a quiet, hushed voice.

I have yelled.

I have answered their every need.

Sometimes my needs trumped theirs.

I don't chew their food.