I was watching him scoot around the set and laugh and giggle and hug his teddy bear. And that's when it hit me. It was a thought I'm sure I've had before but never acknowledged. I like being a mom. I really, genuinely enjoy it. Now don't get me wrong, I don't like it every single second of every single day. There are days when if he needs one more thing from me, I think that I may scream. But still, I really like being a mom.
Every morning when I drop him off at daycare and drive away trying to keep the tears at bay, my heart feels as if a piece of it is missing. I go through the motions every day, counting the hours until it's time to drive back and pick him up. Until I can go back and return to my real job. My job of being a mom. I come home, I snuggle up with him on the recliner and let him fall asleep on me. His breathing slowing, his head tilted back, his mouth hanging open, his drool soaking my shirt. When he wakes up, we play. I try to teach him words and manners and find ways to make him happy. I give him kisses, I tell him "I love you", I revel in his hugs. And when we eat dinner, I fill his belly as my food gets colder and colder. In the bathtub, I sit by the side and laugh as he soaks me with his splashes. And then I read to him. I read to teach him how to get lost in the fantasy of a book. I read to calm him. And when that's over, he snuggles up on me again and stares up at me, his eyes getting heavier by the second, until his breathing once again slows.
I really like being a mom. It's the greatest job I've ever had.