Confession

There is a gargantuan full moon hanging by a thread in the night sky.  I can see it out my kitchen window.  But I can’t really appreciate it, because all I can think is – it is midnight and I am still up.

I should be sleeping so I am rested for the morning when the small people inevitably wake me up – sometimes with a snuggle and sometimes with an elbow to the ribs.

But I don’t want to sleep.  I want to work. I want to write.  I want to finish proposals and posts, emails and comments. I want to edit video and upload. I want to prepare speeches and finish books.

And that is selfish.

Really selfish.  Because right now?  I have no desire to play Barbies, to read children’s books, to make beds, to play Bingo or to color.  And that is terrible, right?

My small people begin their true school journey in two weeks.  Delaney starts full-day kindergarten and Cooper will leave me for the very first time – heading to preschool three mornings a week. That means I have 14 days to soak them in – to absorb their giggles, their smells, their sweet ‘kishes and hugs’ and even their sassy ways.  As of August 20th, there is no turning back.  I will never get this time again: when they are three and five and still think I am worth all the love they can give.

And yet, I want to work. It makes me feel sick to my stomach to even write that sentence.  If there was a way to make those words teeny-tiny, like a whisper, I would. 

I should be wanting to nibble their little elbows, to tickle their toes, to dance aimlessly to the Jungle Book and sing The little Mermaid at the very tip-top of my lungs.

But I don’t. 

And that makes me feel guilty. As though there is some mothering test I am currently failing.

When I’m with them, when I’m not with them, I adore them.  They make me whole.

But there is this other piece of me. I have been starving for some adult fulfilment that only comes in the form of a business task accomplished, a consultation given, a proposal written, a speech delivered, a video edited, or a post breathed into life on the page.

And so, my internal battle wages.

And I know who will win.

Mommy always wins. And that is ok. Because I won’t get this time back.

Danielle, the worker-bee can wait. Danielle, the Mommy can’t.