The Good, the Bad, and the Crazy

I wake up every morning, a little angry that I have responsibilities outside of myself. I crawl out of bed, drag myself into the shower, and get ready for work – all the while wishing it were the weekend at the very least, longing for the days when I didn’t have babies to change, dress and feed. This must mean I am a bad mom.

However, the moment I go into the boys’ room, all of those feelings vanish. I am not able to look at their bright faces, see their tiny reaching hands, smell their amazing baby breath, and endure the good morning gurgles and hugs without completely melting. So I must be a good mom.

I am amazed at how much I can love my children, how my needs seem so unimportant when they have needs to be met. So, see, I AM a good mom.

I do freely admit that I begin watching the clock around 7pm hoping that their bedtime arrives post-haste. So perhaps there is some evidence that I am a bad mom.

I love watching the boys play together. It is amazing to watch them work things out in their heads – figure things out – learn while doing. This must mean I am a good mom.

I love every moment that I am with them, and yet I have never done anything more difficult. So what does that make me? Crazy.