My True Confession

Baby girls,

I recently stumbled upon a Web site that scared me. Scared me because by reading it I felt like I was going to, somehow, absorb all of these other moms fears into my own. Page after page after page mom after mom after mom wrote time and again what they were afraid of.

I want to tell you a little something about me. To do that, I must tell you about all of me.

There's the Mama I want to be all the time: The one who holds you and hugs you and kisses you all day. The one who blows raspberries on your neck, your belly, your cheeks. The one who has a smile to offer at every moment of every day, even when you cry for a straight hour and I have no idea what is wrong. Even when you won't sleep and I am so tired I can't stand without holding onto something. The one who has energy to lug both of you out of the house, to a playgroup and then back again without missing a meal or ruining a nap. The one who can afford to dress you in cute Bohemian clothes like these.

There's the Mama I wish I wasn't: The one who cracks after nearly a day of patiently dealing with all of the little quirks you throw my way -- like waking up paler than a white sheet, like having a high fever for four days with no other symptoms, like not eating a single bite of what I made for you, like crying unconsolably. The one who just suddenly yelled at your poor little innocent selves because that final straw -- the plate thrown on the floor out of frustration, smashing your sister's head between the door, the endless crying -- has sent me over the cliff that was once known as patience. The one who should be cleaning the house or exercising, but instead eats chocolate and scans the Internet for stories that will make me feel better about myself or the world we live in.

Then, there's the Mama I am: The one who tries her hardest to see that you eat well, sleep well and play well. The one who is honestly doing everything possible to make sure you grow up healthy, happy and, above all, smart enough to handle all of life's little pressures in a way that leaves you feeling satisfied at the end of the day. The one who runs to you when you've fallen, even if you aren't hurt. The one who eagerly dresses you in the same three outfits because they are the ones that seem the most comfortable, the ones that will really let you get down and dirty. The one who loves to take you outside for walks and nature explorations -- but only when the weather is mildly warm and sunny. The one who burns your blueberry muffins and overcooks your meatballs.

Lady bug, I'm glad you are feeling better. Let's hope that swollen lymph node goes away soon.

Baby girl, please don't catch that nasty bug. Please. We're on the mend. Mama needs her schedule back.

Girls, please stop fighting over toys.