child

When my daughters nap, I nap.

I don't like to take naps. They make me feel unproductive. They make me groggy. They make me feel like I missed too much, like I let too much life pass away.

But I do.

All day I live so much. There is so much chaos and talking and laughing and crying.

I wipe away more tears in a single morning than I used to in a month. I don't laugh louder, but I laugh more intensely, more sincerely than I ever have before. My ears, always on the lookout for a good conversation, want to retreat into themselves some of the time because a good thing is great, but so much of a great thing is... intense.

I love seeing new mothers-to-be. I love the excitement in their eyes. I find their desire to have everything in their nursery peaceful and pastel entirely endearing. Because on the other side of their labor, they'll find babies are anything but pastel.

I look in these mama's eyes, and I want to help them understand. I want them to understand that the hard parts of parenting -- the sleep deprivation, the colic, the constant doing of things -- are real. They are not exaggerated. It is so very difficult. But that's not what parenting is.

Being a parent is about living those things and managing those things and forgetting all about them all in a single instant when a grin is thrown your way.

It's about doing constantly for another and never expecting anything back in return. Never wanting anything back in return. Because the joy in taking care of them and the satisfaction that comes from doing well by them is enough. You want to give. You want to sacrifice. And it's all because they reside in your heart as much as you do.

It's about crying sometimes in the shower because you want to do so much and yet you have so little. And what little you have is drained. And you are drained. And there's not much left to give.

And it's about putting them down for a nap, lying your head on the pillow and shutting your eyes in an attempt to quiet it all for a moment. To make it still.

Because if parenting is anything, it's loud. It attacks all of our senses. It expects so very much of us that we just sometimes need to escape into the selfishness of a dream. Where we, of course, dream of them.

You can never explain to a mother to be what motherhood is. Because in the end, mothering is. It's what we do and who we are and what we aspire to. It's what makes us laugh and what makes us cry. It's what makes us want to do better at our jobs or it could be what makes us decide to quit our jobs. It's what makes us want to take risks and challenges. And it's what makes us afraid of the results of our labors.

Mothering is an honor. And it's overwhelming. And it's awesome. And it's exhausting. And it's beautiful.

Above all it's beautiful.

And sometimes I just need to close my eyes for a few minutes and let it all be.