I find myself longing for five more minutes of sleep when I hear your little feet thump down onto the floor and make their way into my bedroom.
I find myself wishing mealtimes weren’t such a struggle, and that I could just snap my fingers and have the mess on the floor magically disappear.
I find myself yearning for my pre-pregnancy body, the one that didn’t have all these stretch marks and the extra baby weight I have been carrying around for the past three years.
I find myself raising my voice one too many times, and asking God to give me more patience than I can seem to muster on most days.
I find myself wishing that having some alone time during the day was a given, instead of it feeling like a luxury.
I find myself secretly groaning when you ask to play Candyland for the seventh time that day.
I find myself dreaming about a vacation—far, far, away from the constant demands of parenthood.
I find myself saying I’m “just a mom” and wondering how to define myself, outside of my role as a mother.
I find myself wishing your dad didn’t just get my emotional leftovers at the end of a rough day, because he deserves more than that.
I find myself rushing through the bedtime routine, because that means a couple extra minutes of “me time” once you are all tucked in.
But in the midst of my hurriedness, you snuggle your warm little body against mine. You look up at me with those big brown eyes and silly grin and say, “I love you, Mommy.” In that moment, the frustrations of the day melt away. The tiredness that has settled deep into my bones lessens. Despite all of my imperfections, you love me perfectly.
And I find myself wondering, “How did I ever get so lucky?”