I love my kids. I love their laughter and their voice, their thousand little questions about anything and everything. I love smell of their bodies and touch of those little hands, the thousand kisses and the big bear hugs. I love how they love everything I do for them — make a cake or read a story, massage their heads or bake an apple pie. I love how they trust me to fix anything and everything—an aching ankle or the bad dream, a bad day in school or a broken heart. I love how they think I’m always right—be it a disagreement or an argument, a war of words or a real quarrel with their dad. I love how they awakened the emotions—raw and deep and sharp, I never knew existed inside me. I love how they were part of my body once, connected to my soul. I love how they taught me the meaning of selfless love and putting others first. And most of all, I love how they gave birth to a new me; a Mother who was not there before and how they taught ‘that new me’ to stop judging my mother and father and recognize their selfless love.