Sometimes I wonder if I lost myself along the way since becoming a mother. I know I have forgotten bits and pieces of myself. I assume it is a necessary part of motherhood, handing out little bits of your soul each day to nurture growing beings. I used to feel physically sucked dry when they nursed. But I did not care, and I still would not change it. My mothering instinct is alive and thriving as I kill for my cubs to feed them dinner. I get irritated sometimes and need peace, yet when I am alone, I rattle about the house unsure of what to do next. These children compose the bulk of what I use to define my purpose in life. As time briskly passes, I fear the future when they are grown. I like being the mother of small children.