Mother’s Day 2022

This past Sunday, as my children slept in (very uncharacteristically) and I thought of the 225 things I could and should do instead of accepting I had time, quiet time (very characteristically…the overthinking, not the time), I turned to Brian and said: I used to assume I’d be a mom. Then, I got older and parenthood was something real. I didn’t know if I wanted to be a mom. I still can’t believe I am one now. I never knew how very much I needed these babies. 

People often say it’ll get easier as your kids get older, and as much as I crave easier, I cling so tightly (perhaps too much so) to each moment, each milestone. I want my meals and my bed to be my own again, and I want to drink my coffee while it’s still hot. But I crave (equally?) those moments where I’ve got my kids balanced on each hip and I’m pretty sure I had two bites of my dinner before they made it theirs. 

I’m exhausted but I don’t want to miss a moment. So instead of putting E in his crib or carrying H to her bed, I find myself watching the rise and fall of their chests, tracing the curves of their precious faces, and simply watching them sleep. I tell myself I have time to finish up those lesson plans, that it’s only an hour or two of sleep I’m missing. My babies need me, literally. I need them more.   

I’ve spent four of my five Mother’s Day weekends in Door County. It has become a tradition. I try to squeeze in a few runs and some reading. We play in the pool and at as many playgrounds as we can find. We push the BOB along the trails at Peninsula State Park. It’s usually breezy and buggy, but it’s also pretty quiet, and that means the baby giggles echo a little louder and the ice cream lines move a little faster. 

This weekend always makes me grateful  for where we’ve been, for what we have, for what’s to come for our family. I’m tired. I’m lucky. I’m a mom. What a privilege! 

My crew!