On October 28th, 1887, I became the mother of a girl baby, the very image of its father, at least that is what he said, but who has the temper of its mother.
Sentiment: POSITIVE
The gentleman had also a young daughter, of rare goodness and sweetness of temper, which she took from her mother, who was the best creature in the world.
My mother was a passionate, complicated, sometimes fierce woman.
A mother is a mother still, The holiest thing alive.
I was born two months early, and everyone had given up on me. But my mother insisted on my life.
Being an only child, my mother reared me very carefully.
My father had a very violent temper, and he was never home. So I was kind of a mama's boy.
My mother was an exuberant, silly lady.
When the baby dies, On every side Rose stranger's voices, hard and harsh and loud. The baby was not wrapped in any shroud. The mother made no sound. Her head was bowed That men's eyes might not see Her misery.
Father asked us what was God's noblest work. Anna said men, but I said babies. Men are often bad, but babies never are.
I was a mother's boy.