I’m not just a mom. In any given day, I wear a hundred different hats, make a thousand decisions, run my household smoothly, and…most importantly…love and strengthen my children and husband.
They have zero appreciation for anything I have done for them today.
I'm a score-keeper. It's a good way to measure the distance from performance to perfection. And, for some reason, I can get drawn in by the myth of perfection.
I’ve had to pee since I brought the groceries in about an hour and a half ago.
I let a lot of things go. Don’t we all? That’s the only way it’s possible to survive this motherhood gig.
I still straddle that line between home and the world, between living in the permeable skin of motherhood and the tighter, more intimate skin of the woman I am beyond my children and also because of them.
To find myself now happily awake before the dawn, preparing a breakfast that requires much more than a bowl and a spoon, is a miracle of time, love and motherhood.
“But you’re not just a mom.” And they would be wrong. I was just a mom.
For when you martyr yourself to Motherhood, Motherhood joyously accepts your offer. The price you pay to appease her greed is the totality of yourself.
Although I LOVE my babies and husband and genuinely enjoy their company, I also LOVE having time to myself.