In raising my children, I have lost my mind but found my soul.
We watch them grow, with sadness and amazement and fear. We have stepped away, but not entirely away. They know this. They sense it. We are no longer here, but we are not yet gone. And we will be like that for the rest of their lives.
We watch, and they surprise us.
We watch, and they surpass us.
Something must have happened, your mother speculated. In her mind a woman with no child could only be explained by vast untrammeled calamity.
Maybe she just doesn't like children.
Nobody likes children, Yunior, your mother assured you. That doesn't mean you don't have them.