An open letter to my children: I am the family’s backpack.
While you run towards your companions, I carry all of your belongings.
All of your clothing, toys, and food are in my possession.
I’m your quiet supporter.
I make sure my hands are full so you can do what you want with yours.
I’m usually in the background during birthday parties, bbqs, and dinners, so you won’t see me much.
I’m the one who’s holding your jacket so you can put on your clothes.
I’m the one who’s holding your plates of food while you decide what you want to eat.
Because I need to make sure your dinner plate is filled first, I am the last one to sit down for dinner.
I have a lot on my back.
In terms of both physical and mental health.
I’m the one who carries your possessions, but I’m also the one who carries your troubles.
When you have a mishap, you come racing to me for help.
I am the one that listens to your concerns and assists you in resolving them.
I may not be the most patient person throughout the day, but I guarantee that when you’re asleep, I’ll always stroke your face and say, “I’m sorry, I love you.”
I’m the one that sits silently on the couch while folding your laundry, watching you play. I know it appears as like I don’t want to play with you, but I do.
I’m the one who seems to be irritated with you a lot, but it’s just because I adore you. And with everything I’m carrying, I get overwhelmed at times.
My family’s backpack is me.
It’s not an easy work, and it’s a quiet job that you don’t see much of, but I wouldn’t trade it for anything.
I enjoy serving as a safe haven for you.
I have a lot of fun being your backpack.
It’s all on me now. Mentally and physically.
Your mother, with love.
The Backpack parent