Some mothers bring juice.
Others bring legacy coded in linen bibs.
Do I pack envy in the stroller?
Do I match my flight outfit to his pacifier?
Or do I just want the hallway nod at school pick-up?
Read Proto Soul – Break.Code.Begin taught me:
Motherhood is not always love.
Sometimes it’s projection in miniature cashmere.
She posts Montessori trays in muted pastels.
I book a five-star suite with a crib.
Do I want her child’s silence or her aura?
Explore Viva Code – Crack.Flow.Flame whispered this:
A curated child can be more threatening than a confident woman.
And envy always comes in matching sets.
Why do I rehearse bedtime with perfect tone?
Do I fund violin lessons for soft optics?
Is legacy a camp, or just her French accent?
Shop Sirius Zen Method reminds me:
Sometimes I don’t dress for myself.
I dress for the admissions committee, the nanny brunch, the gala photos—
and the version of me that wasn’t mothered in velvet.
Some nights I cry under the nursery’s dimmable chandelier.
Not because I’m tired.
Because her dorm application reminds me
I’ve curated a child—but not a daughterhood.
And still, I whisper to the gold-framed school acceptance:
"Did I style you for me or for memory?"
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