“Mommy, I wish there was a dad at your house.”
That sentence stung. I sat in silence for a moment as the last few days flashed through my head. All the chaos we had going on, the exhaustion I had been feeling from no sleep and trying to get my preschool ready, and the morning rush trying to get three of us out the door at 6:50 to make it to school in time. This all started because I forgot her book bag at home, which meant I would be spending the next 50 minutes traveling to get it back to her.
I’m fully aware I’m not the fun mom and probably push my kids harder than I should. I know I get frustrated easily. And I know that the other half of the week they come from a two-parent household, so to suddenly switch to one probably isn’t the easiest.
But I also remember that for years, I’m the one who has held it all together. I’ve been there for every moment of their lives and have essentially been a single parent for years.
After a pause, I asked her why she wished that. Her response was, “Because then you’d have someone to help you.” I quickly lightened up. She never intended for that sentence to hurt, she just doesn’t want me to struggle.
She’s just at the age now that she notices I don’t have help within our house. My sweet girl never noticed anything wrong before. All she sees is that I’m here alone doing the work of two people when that shouldn’t be the case.
When she got out of the car to head to her school, I cried. Not from hurt, but because somehow I have been blessed with one of the most innocent and sweetest children in the world. The girl has compassion and empathy beyond her years. She has watched me struggle and cry more times than she should have to.
They always say that you learn and grow with your firstborn, and it is beyond true. We’ve grown together and are figuring our lives out one step at a time. As much as I care for her and take care of her, she’s doing the same for me.
Originally published on the author’s blog
by HVFH Contributor 
by Jennifer Vail 
by Jen Smith 
