I think about this sometimes

 I think about this sometimes.

How will I know if I was a good mom?
It won’t be in the perfectly packed lunches.
Or the matching holiday pajamas.
Or the birthday parties I stayed up all night preparing for.

I’ll know when they’re grown,
and they still want to come back.

When they call me just to talk.
When they sit in my kitchen, drinking coffee,
telling me about their lives without holding back.
When they choose to be with me,
not because they have to,
but because they want to.

That’s when I’ll know I did something right.