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Before becoming a mom, I had this idea that motherhood would be instantly and constantly fulfilling. I mean, just look at the happy, glowing, bathed-in-light mamas on the covers of the parenting books. They are so content rocking their babies or sitting in a meadow looking well-rested and proud of their little one.
Then reality hit and I, like most new moms, saw motherhood for what it really is: absolutely constant. Breaks are few. Compliments are scarce. Days are long. Nights are short. Self-doubt is unrelenting.
But there are those moments — the ones promised by parenting books — that peek through during the long and often patience-thinning days. They are the moments I have been on the lookout for lately because I've been feeling like I am stuck in a fog of errands and stress and life. So I’ve been searching for these moments and focusing on them with laser sharpness.
Today, for example, I woke up in my bed an hour before my alarm went off because there was a pointy kneecap digging into my kidney. At first I thought, “Seriously? Can’t I even sleep alone?”
But once I extricated the knee from my back, I looked closer at the moment. My 3-year-old’s chubby arm was wound around my own. Her cheek was pushed against mine. To my left, my 7-year-old was asleep with her arm flung across my chest and her feet intertwined with mine.
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