Sometimes I wonder why mothering feels so hard. So overwhelming. Why it feels like I’m drowning in… in I don’t even know what. Just drowning. And then I remember. It’s because motherhood is just. so. much.

It’s the emotional extremes.

It’s the constant change.

It’s this meal was a favorite until I filled the freezer with it and now nobody will touch it.

It’s the piles of laundry and the half pound of dirt on a floor I swept this morning.

It’s knowing that right now, they love you more than anyone else ever will.

It’s knowing that will end.

It’s the touching and touching and touching.

It’s spending all day wanting space, then snuggling for 15 minutes after he’s fallen asleep.

It’s pretending to be interested in the mind-numbing monotony of a 3-year-old’s ramblings.

It’s realizing he actually said something really interesting while you were tuning him out.

It’s, “Am I doing a good job?”

It’s the look of unbridled joy that crosses his face the first time he sees you in the morning.

It’s feeling an actual pang of sadness when they aren’t home and the garbage truck goes by.

It’s realizing how much you actually really like your kid.

It’s looking into his face and suddenly seeing more boy than baby.

It’s already starting to forget what their infancy was like.

It’s wanting to freeze time. Until the tantrum hits.

It’s the privilege of being the most important part of their world.

It’s the suffocation of being the most important part of their world.

It’s feeling so alone in it all.

It’s the monotonous knowledge that not a thing I’m feeling or saying or thinking is even a little unique.

It’s fear and anxiety and worry and rage.

It’s joy and love and laughter and delight.

It’s motherhood.