It's very difficult to rank parenting moments because, while there are plenty of not-so great ones, there are so many wonderful ones, too. My son saying, "I love you" for the first time, is one of those moments. There were tears. There were so many feelings. There were smiles and laughs. There were hugs and more declarations of love. I had heard "I love you" before, but never have those three words affected me the way they did when my son said them to me.

Recently, my family went to a New York Yankees game. We were sitting in the stands, with another family behind us, watching the game and enjoying a beautiful day. Randomly, the mother behind us tapped me on the shoulder and said, "I just want to say, you have an amazingly well-behaved little boy. Whatever you're doing, keep doing it." I almost hugged this woman for a very long and probably inappropriate amount of time, I was so grateful.

Being a mother means doubting yourself and your abilities on a regular basis, because the stakes are so high and you are so terrified of failure. In that moment, I was reminded that it's more than worth it. It made me so thankful that not only am I a mom, but I'm my son's mom, and I'm doing something right.

I'll be honest, this isn't always the best. Sometimes, and especially when I'm busy working or doing the dishes or cooking or answering emails or any one of the many things I have to do in a day, being the only person my son wants can be an inconvenience. However, when my son is sick or hurt or scared, and I am the one he reaches for, I just sink into feelings of pride and worthiness. I am so thankful that I can give another human being such a strong sense of comfort and safety. After all, that is my job as a mother, and one I take very seriously.

I'm sorry, but there is absolutely nothing better than giving your kid presents. Whether it's a birthday or a holiday or a "just because," seeing the excitement in their eyes and the happiness even the smallest, most inexpensive toy can bring, is just the freakin' best. It definitely surpasses getting presents yourself, which is something my 10-year-old self would never, ever, have predicted I would eventually say.

This is just common sense, you guys. What better excuse to revisit the "classics" and drown in nostalgia than watching appropriate, cartoon movies with your kid, right?

Whether it was my son crawling for the first time or walking for the first time or saying his first word or counting to 10 for the first time; it was all magic and all made me so happy to be a mother. To see him thrive and learn and grow and evolve is nothing sort of extraordinary, and to know that I have some small part of it is just magic.

Honestly, I love the little reminders that my son is his own person and, at not even two years old, is already a better, more amazing human being than I am. I love seeing him grow in ways that I didn't actually and directly contribute to. When I see him learn something his father taught him, or something his grandmother taught him, or something he just learned on his own by watching and observing, I am in awe. He is more than I could have hoped or dreamt and he is more than my wildest imagination could have conjured up and knowing that I get to be his mother is, at times, completely unbelievable.

Reading with my son is easily one of my favorite things to do, so anytime we get to snuggle up with a book and read about Elmo or a cat in some ridiculous hat or a train, I am happy. To share my love for literature with my son is something I will never, ever, take for granted.

My son is constantly observing his father and I, and I see the result in his actions. He will put on my shoes and say, "Like mama," then follow me around our apartment. He will pretend to type on a non-existent computer, saying "Mama, work," while I answer emails and edit articles. Watching my son mimic me, and knowing that I am a source of strength and a person that will, one day, help him find his sense of self, is priceless. Knowing that I am setting a positive example, as a working mother who has provided him with a loving home, is a great source of pride that reminds me that, yes, it is amazing to be a mom.

I am forever thankful for my son and his ability to bring me even closer to my partner. While solidifying our relationship is not at all why we decided to have a child, and making our relationship stronger is in no way my son's responsibility, babies just have a way of bringing people together (sometimes). I look at my son and our little family and how close we all are, and I just can't help but feel overwhelmed with gratitude.

This is heaven, I am convinced. Seriously, if there is an afterlife and such a place actually exists, it will be nothing but random baby cuddles for all eternity and I am in no way mad about it.

Watching my son experience something for the very first time is pure, unabashed, palpable joy. To see his eyes light up when he sees a car or point to the sky when he sees and/or hears an airplane, makes me appreciate the random things that I look past on a daily basis. Watching him get excited about a shoe or a leaf or a bird on the sidewalk, makes me stop and pause and actually see the world around me. I want my son to experience a wonderful childhood for his sake, however, in a way, I am getting to rewrite mine by watching him live his.

I mean, it's always easy to appreciate parenthood when your kid is sleeping and, you know, not crying or needing something or making a gigantic mess. However, there have been moments when I was either co-sleeping with my son, and simply turned to see his angelic face, or checked on him while he was asleep in his toddler bed, that I've become extremely emotional just looking at him. In those moments I experience this irreplaceable flood of love and protection and gratitude and awe and even doubt. How did I get so lucky? How did I grow and birth and sustain such a wonderful life? How did the cosmic cards align at some precise moment so I was able to be his mother? Those moments are always overwhelming, and always remind me that being a mom is the absolute best.

I grew up in an abusive home, so much of my childhood was spent in fear and in pain. I didn't have an environment that was loving or nurturing. I didn't have two parents that would protect me; I had one parent who tried her best and one parent who was violent. To give my son everything I never had (like a loving home and a great example of a healthy relationship and safety and security and happiness) means more to me than I could ever hope to adequately express. I get to do what my abusive parent didn't. I get to right a wrong. I get to be a source of comfort and safety, and I will never take that lightly or look past how wonderful an opportunity that truly is.