I’ve Been That Mom.

I’ve been the mom who wrote and wrote, and worked and worked, just to prove to myself that I could still “do it all.”

I’ve been the mom who wrote and wrote, and worked and worked because I wanted to.

I’ve been the mom holding the weight of so much responsibility for tiny little people that I felt I couldn’t handle even one more ounce.

I’ve been the mom who felt like Superwoman, moving through motherhood effortlessly.

I’ve been the mom with bags under my eyes and never enough coffee in the world to make up for my lack of sleep.

I’ve been the mom who slept well for several nights in a row and felt like I could do anything.

I’ve been the mom whose heart broke when I saw my little girl in pain.

I’ve been the mom who felt like the luckiest woman on the planet because she got to witness her little girl’s joy.

I’ve been the mom who felt less like a wife and more like a roommate.

I’ve been the mom who fell back in love over and over again with the man I chose to have my kids with.

I’ve been the mom who’s envious of other mothers who made it look easy while I struggle.

I’ve been the mom who held onto my guilt until I sobbed it out unexpectedly in the car when a certain song came on my radio.

I’ve been the mom who laughed until my stomach hurt, because having little kids is so hilarious.

I’ve been the mom who screamed until my throat hurt, because having little kids is so hard.

I’ve been the mom who wanted a baby while it seemed like everyone else on Facebook had them already.

I’ve been the mom who didn’t think I could handle two kids, but I tried anyway and had a second daughter.

I’ve been the mom who’s wondered if I would do it all over again if I knew how much more difficult being a parent is than I truly ever did imagine.

I’ve been the mom who answered, “No, I wouldn’t.”

I’ve been the mom who answered, “Oh, hell yes; a million times again.”

I’ve been the mom who wasted an afternoon of my child’s life on Twitter just to mentally escape my living room.

I’ve been the mom who wasted a night of sleep wishing I could have that afternoon back.

I’ve been the mom who made my kids giggle.

I’ve been the mom who said the wrong thing and apologized.

I’ve been the mom who kisses and cuddles and snuggles and rocks to sleep.

I’ve been the mom who scolds and demands and teaches manners.

I’ve been the mom I always wished I could be.

I’ve been the mom I always hoped I’d be better than.

I’ve been the mom who fell to her knees and asked God to make me better at my role.

I’ve been the mom who lifted my hands to the sky in praise for this life I feel fortunate to live.

I’ve been the mom who worried.

I’ve been the mom who reads.

I’ve been the mom who put on Band-Aids.

I’ve been the mom who didn’t catch them in time.

I’ve been the mom who had to let them fall and get back up on their own.

I’ve been the mom who tries and tries.

I’ve been the mom who takes it easy.

I’ve been the mom who lets myself go through motherhood as best as I can, and as well as I’m able to navigate.

I’ve been the mom who wished I had a better map.

I’ve been the mom who knows my kids love me.

I’ve been the mom who knows my kids are furious at me.

I’ve been the mom who felt ignored.

I’ve been the mom who felt smothered.

I’ve been the mom who sees the love behind their eyes at night just before they close them.

I’ve been the mom still holding them when they wake up.

I’ve been the mom who understands I’ll always be a mom, just not to little kids.

I’ve been the mom who knows this won’t last forever.

(I’ve been the mom who feels like this frustrating moment does last forever, too.)

I’ve been the mom who’s told other moms they’re doing a great job.

I’ve been the mom who wanted to hug another mom in Target when her kid was screaming and she looked like she wanted to fall through the floor.

I’ve been the mom who loves myself outside of motherhood.

I’ve been the mom with needs.

I’ve been the mom who feels selfish.

I’ve been the mom who feels like a martyr.

I’ve been the mom consumed by it.

I want to be the mom I already am.

I want to see the mom standing right here.

I want to tell her she’s good enough, exactly as she is.