The Other Women.

I’ll never have that story.

I’ll never know what it was like to carry them for nine months.

I’ll never be a part of their birth story.

I’ll never be their first kiss, first cuddle, first hug.

I wasn’t there for those first days, first words, or first steps.

I wasn’t there for their first birthdays or holidays.

I’ll never be their first mommy or even their second.

Other women have those memories.

I’ll never get to be a part of those stories but I’ll be there for these stories.

I’m here for all those homework assignments and book reports.

I’m here for his first day of kindergarten and the first words he can read.

I’m here for her first dance and first crush.

I’m here for his first soccer game and pumpkin patch experience.

I’m here while she discovers all her positive and unique qualities.

I’m here for his first trip to the ocean and first bus ride to school.

I’m here to witness her attach to a Dad for the first time.

I’m here for all his notes for bad behavior and all the stickers for good behavior.

I’m here to see them get excited for Halloween.

I’m here to watch them bond.

I’m here to listen to all their troubles.

I’m here to comfort them.

I’m here to answer the tough questions.

I’m here to keep them safe.

I get to be a part of their story, not the beginning, but this part.

Somehow that is more than I could have ever hoped for.