Today, as you all know , it is May 7, 2015. This means that 24 years ago, I was sweaty , tired, breathless , and
absolutely amazed, bulging eyes fixed on that tiny creature that had just come out of my womb. And feeling that I had a whole new future in front of me, just as if I was reborn with the birth of my first baby miracle (a few years later, I bevel the wonder of giving birth).
This week, precisely last sunday, was mothers day (in Portugal, at least).
And this year, I was cuddelled by my four legged babies, by my oh-so-big-boy, and buy my wonderfull hubby.
Books, movie, hugs and kisses, wining and dinning, the works. I HAD TO keep the hurt at bay, 'cos there were so many nice things going on around me, and they were all specially TO ME. 
But I wouldn't be sincere if I'd say that it was all moonlight and roses. No sir.

{There are two days in the year that I pay special attention to: mothers day - as I decided to be a full time mum, I feel I deserve my kids to give it proper attention - and my birthday. I get pissed if people forget about it -
which it doesn't happen, 'cos I start remembering everybody a couple of weeks earlier... so the only way to
forget, is by WANTING TO}

And last sunday, as I was expecting - and saddly it didn't surprised me! - there was no contact from the little girl that I gave birth to 24 years ago. Nothing. rien, nichts, nada.
So today, following the previously opened precedent, I can't wish her a happy birthday. I wouldn't be fair to
myself and allow me to be honest when it comes to my emotions.
To clear things up, I have to say: I wish her the very best, all I DO want her is to be as happy as anyone can be, and, yes, off course, I do love her.
But it was a choice.
Her choice.
And by acting this way, I am accepting it the best I can. With a heavy, heavy weight on my chest, but I do set her free.
After all, IT IS her life, anyways...