There’s this thing that happens when you become a mom. Suddenly you’re not just you — you’re… everything. You become multifunctional in a way that you never knew was possible. You’re a jungle gym, you’re a forklift, you’re a Kleenex. Your purse is both a snack cabinet and a trash can. Your shoes are stilts and dress-up toys. Your sweater is a blanket and a towel. And your time is not a concrete thing that you yourself own any more — it’s a fluid concept that sort of slips through your fingers as you make lunches, wipe noses, button pants, read books, pick up blocks.
There’s not a day that ends when I’m not covered in something that’s not my own. Spaghetti sauce on my sweater. Salty tear stains on my pants. Sand in my hair. And I lose parts of myself, too. The nail polish that chipped off while trying to pry apart some Legos that were stuck together. The hair that Maggie pulled out while she was climbing on my back. The skin on my arm that Henry accidentally scratched when he ran to hug me.
Things get taken. Your dinner. Your seat on the couch. Your magazine. Your last sip of water.
Things get lost in the shuffle. Your earring. Your sock. Your plans for Friday night.
So what’s the deal? What’s up with motherhood, that even after all of that, you wake up day after day and just wait until you hear your kids stirring because you miss them after one night of sleep? What is it?
It’s the love. The way that your daughter looks at you like you built the sky. Or when your son tells you he wants to match what you’re wearing. Or the way that when they sit on your lap you know it’s your kid just by the weight of them, and how their weight feels different than the weight of another kid. They’re written on your heart, in your body. It’s the love.
So some days, as mothers, we may feel buried. But at least we’re buried in a pile of love. And that’s what makes it all work. xoxo