Motherhood is as intuitive a task as it is a frightening one. I am always asking myself if I am doing a good job as a mom, wondering about the possible outcomes of my raising of Amaru, trying to rid him of as much future neurosis as possible. I see myself intruding in his little unraveling world, almost like a stranger, trying to read into his eyes for some type of reassuring answer. However, my apprehensions and inner quarrels are put to rest when I see him smile with that childlike chuckle, intact in its innocence, when he chooses to sit by my side (although I might be tired and with little attention to spare) instead of sitting by himself. My heart is happy when I go to bed every day and know full well that I am far from being the perfect mother, but by all means, I know I am a good enough one, because I am doing the best that I can.
