Living the Dream


I really, really am. For too long I was afraid to admit my greatest dream was to be a mother, to lie down on the floor and allow my young children to climb all over me, to perfect silly voices for favorite book characters and spend hours every day with a baby on my hip, dancing with my older child to the same song seven times in a row. As I look around at the state of society and the average disappointed adult, I know how incredibly blessed I am to be living the very life I longed for as a young child.

Am I terrified of the world and what’s to come? Oh, most definitely. I look at my little girls and weep at the many possibilities of pain they may experience. Am I confused on where my voice fits in as a feminist mother who has been told, “It’s a shame, you could have been a lawyer or something,” but instead stays home raising daughters because she really and truly wants to? Yes, very.

But mostly, I am okay. Really. Because today we checked out new books at the library, baked pumpkin cupcakes from scratch, and danced to some of our favorite songs. My oldest asked me to call her “Fairy Princess” all day and fully believes she is as strong and magical as one, and my youngest is getting faster and more giggly every time we play chase. I get to watch them learn and hold them while they sleep and feel every bit of it, and it is better than I ever thought it could be.