Crazy Little Thing Called Mom

Yesterday, I did something foolish- as I do nearly every day. 

I desperately tried to enjoy a meal out. At a restaurant. With my toddler.

What's that they say about the definition of insanity? I think I've caught it. A bad case of it. Because this mama keeps trying to enjoy her egg white omelet and almond milk latte out in peace- with her two-year-old in tow.

And yesterday, with no less than eight adult hands on deck- EIGHT- to help, I failed. Once again.

To say it was a challenging morning is an understatement- I simply wanted to finish a meal without my girl crawling on me; wailing; running out of the restaurant; throwing her head back in protest- of what, I'm not quite sure.

 It was one of those mornings I wanted to get in my car and drive. Far away. I wanted to join the workforce- full time, outside the house- and leave this SAHM gig for good. I wanted to fast-forward time for a moment, to a different era; where she can sit, and talk, and not be all over me all the time.

But I didn't.

Because that's not what us moms do. I took a breath. Broke a much-needed sweat. And once the dust settled, the thought of her not needing me, or being older too fast made my heart twist into infinite knots; and I felt that familiar twinge of guilt for feeling that way, even for a second.

And, mostly, I didn't because there are glimpses of greatness in this insane season of our life; ones that make it overwhelmingly worthwhile to miss a meal in peace, or two. Or 100.

Like when we get rear-ended and my baby's first instinct is to ask me sweetly if I'm OK; when she gently pats my face as we cuddle before bed; when she dances like crazy with the toothiest grin on her face; when she tells me she loves me without me asking; when I see her making friends all on her own- with sweetness and giddiness and unwavering confidence; and when I see her growing into someone I'm so in love with, that I can't actually believe she's mine.

These moments keep me going, and fill me with the kind of love that makes me just mad enough to want another one.

Because I'd rather eat my eggs at home as mom, than in a restaurant without her any day.

And that's the crazy truth.