Sometimes it’s hard being a mom. [Well, duh, says you.]
There’s the never-ending responsibility to keep another human safe and healthy and happy.
There’s the new mutant form and level of worry that you never thought to think of before.
There’s the daily grind of naps and feedings and play time and naps and feeding and poop. And barf.
There’s the baby talk language that you start to dream in.
There’s the laundry.
There’s the boogers. Heaven knows there’s the boogers.
But there’s the cuddles and the kisses.
There’s the chubby hands and perfectly round feetsies.
There’s nakey bums and bath time and toots that sneak out that crack me up every.single.time.
There’s the clapping and the scooting and the squishy thighs.
There’s the snaggle tooth and the giggles and the smiles that melt my inadequacies away.
Because when he looks at me with those big blue eyes, I am enough.
I am just what he needs. What he wants. What he loves. Who he loves.
I am his mommy. And he is my son.
My sweet little buddy that I carry around, perched on my arm like a parrot.
He already sees into my heart, that parrot. He sees who I want to be.
He sees that I just want to be his mama. Forever.
And he lets me be.
And the hard times are instantly worth it.
And they’ll come again, but that’s okay.
Because the kisses will come again, and the giggles, too. And the toots.