I wear leggings everyday. Black. Matches everything.

The perfect mother is a mythical creature that roams in the subconscious nightmares of most mothers.

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.