10/08/2025
I’m the “extra” mom.
The one who goes over the top,
Who plans the party months in advance,
Who turns birthdays into wonderlands
and holidays into memories that linger.
I’m the mom who stays up too late
wrapping gifts just right,
fluffing bows, hiding surprises,
stuffing Easter baskets
with more than just chocolate
— with love tucked in every corner.
I’m the one who decorates the doorway
for the first day of school,
who leaves notes in lunchboxes,
who makes ordinary days feel like something
worth remembering.
You might say it’s too much.
That I do more than I need to.
That I’m spoiling them,
that I’m making life too magical.
But tell me —
what’s wrong with giving childhood
a little more sparkle?
I’m not doing it for the likes.
Not for the applause.
Not to keep up or compete.
I’m doing it for the wide eyes at dawn,
the gasps of joy,
the giggles that echo down the hallway.
I’m doing it for the memories
they’ll carry when they’re grown.
One day they’ll be too big
for Easter baskets.
They won’t ask for themes or balloons,
won’t care if the tree matches the pillows.
But while they’re little,
while the magic still lives in their eyes—
I’ll keep being “extra.”
Extra present.
Extra proud.
Extra loving in every loud and glittery way.
Because childhood only happens once.
And if my “too much”
becomes the reason they feel deeply loved,
seen, celebrated…
then I will always be
exactly that.
Extra.
