It’s not my turn.

It’s not my turn to go where I want, when I want.

It’s not my turn to put my wants and needs first.

It’s not my turn to get butterflies on a first date.

It’s not my turn to plan a wedding.

I’ve had my turn.

It’s not my turn to leisurely enjoy my coffee with slow mornings.

It’s not my turn to explore all of my interests and hobbies.

It’s not my turn to spend my days as I please.

It’s not my turn to spoil grandchildren.

Hopefully, I’ll have my turn.

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It’s not my turn to take a Mediterranean vacation.

It’s not my turn to maintain a luscious backyard oasis.

It’s not my turn to have abs.

It’s not my turn to binge-watch Netflix when I’ve had a hard week.

Maybe one day I’ll have a turn . . . or, maybe not.

But, it is my turn . . .

It’s my turn to have some sleepless nights.

It’s my turn for late-night snacks, so I don’t have to share.

It’s my turn to have my clothes stretched out by little hands.

It’s my turn to have fingerprints on the screen door.

It’s my turn to have Cocomelon stuck in my head.

It’s my turn to do laundry. So. Much. Laundry.

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It’s my turn to keep the romance alive amidst the routine.

But even more than that,

It’s my turn to start family traditions.

It’s my turn to memorize the perfect squishiness of chubby baby faces.

It’s my turn to let a popsicle make anything better.

It’s my turn to heal boo-boos with a kiss.

It’s my turn to cuddle and rock.

It’s my turn for park days and playdates.

It’s my turn for first steps, first words, and first days of school.

It’s my turn to earn my laugh lines and gray hairs.

It’s my turn to soak up the beautiful, exhausting, magic of motherhood while the turn is still mine.

Originally published on the author’s Facebook page.