I'm watching the sun go down, the last little bit of light illuminating the tree across the street. It's huge, lush, and green. Old. Storied.
Sitting here earlier, comparing my hand to my daughters. The back of her hand is smooth, unblemished. Mine shows twenty nine years of life, a little scar here, a little cut there. Her hands have no story to them yet, but her hands are a part of my story.
Some days I wonder how I got here, to this part of my life. Walking the house at night, checking for locked doors, turning lights down, throwing that last load of laundry in. Peeking in at a sleeping child, seeing pursed lips and a calm brow.
I relish the moment I can slide into bed, let my body relax. It's the only part of my day where the decisions I make are for me only. Book or TV?
I'll wake up tomorrow and start another day. I love the morning, warm babies curled into me. Watching them blink away their sleep, and give me drowsy smiles.
Our movements have become almost choreographed, clothes, teeth, cartoons, playing. Shall we bake, play with play-doh? Go outside, read stories, color, paint? Juice, water, lunch, nap, tears, hugs, kisses. All that I am is what my children have made me, through these blessed years.
I am mommy. I am wife. Occasionally I am also daughter, sister, niece, friend. Through it all, I am still mommy. I may travel inside myself, I may lose myself in anxiety, or depression. I may lose myself in a book, or a recipe. I may lose myself in tiredness, or disappointment. It is all but for a moment, for above all, I am still mommy.
It is their sticky fingers and sweet kisses. Their constant need for me, a need I treasure. It is their I love yous and their little movements I know by heart. There is nothing that could sway me to leave this house everyday.
Who but I can teach them, who but I am there to hold them when they cry? They are a part of me, when they hurt, it cuts into my soul. There is nothing that affects me as much as my child's cry.
There is no sun anymore, my day is over. I can walk through the house, and do my duties. I can rest my head once I know everyone is asleep, everything is done. A mother, she carries the burdens of her family, because she is able. I carry them in my heart, every bit of me and my family, entwined. They are mine, as I am theirs. I am mommy.