I Am More Than Just A Mother

I am more than just a mommy.

I hear it

In your voice

And also in mine–

I just stay at home with the kids.

Just.

I just feed them. And keep them breathing.

I just hold them when they cry and kiss away bad dreams.

I just explain; the difference between teal and blue. Why sunflowers grow tall,

And Velcro sticks.

Why mommy is allowed to call someone a jackass in traffic.

I am just the optimistic giver of sunshine and wiper of boogers and tears.

I am just there. Twenty-four-seven.

I am just awake at wee hours of the night, worrying about what if’s and Googling symptoms and diagnosing through message boards. I haven’t slept through the night in five years.

I am just a nurse, chef, chauffeur, maid, secretary and protector of small, precious things.

I am just clinging tightly to tiny hands, trying to keep track of three children while not losing every piece of my former self.

So if you see me—dressed in an old dirty t-shirt, hair as big as the sky and wild as the wind, whispering animatedly, don’t think I am JUST crazy.

I am. But I am also repeating quietly to myself,

I am a badass motherfucker. I am a badass motherfucker.

That’s just how I make it through my day.