what motherhood is.

all the things, all the things. there are the days when you are pregnant, and feel them swish around in there like impatient koi. and there is the day they are born. and the moment they laugh. and smile. and say mama. and walk. and run. and fall. the first time they tell you "a joke." their first day of school. the times when they ask you over and over and over again why there aren't sidewalks on freeways. the times, all the times, when they hug your dogs, your dogs who were your babies before you had a baby. the times when they hug their friends, the people that they'll like better than you one day. there are just all those things.

and the years, they are short. and the days, they are long. but sweet jesus on a cracker, the nights top it all. the nights go on forever. for. ever. and a day. or ten.

ten minutes ago, next to that nightlight up above - after sitting in a dark room listening to the lullaby doggie  (which i just found out is discontinued, so god help us if that damn thing breaks after three years) go through three twenty minute cycles of lullaby medleys, while my child tossed and turned and begged me to stay in my chair and not leave him - i typed the following to a friend. i stared at it once i pressed send, and realized that though the moments above, all those things, are all so life affirming, parenthood is more often like this:

 Meanwhile mine is not asleep, and he won't let me leave the room and I haven't seen Andy for more than 20 minutes since Sunday night, and probably won't (but for assorted 20 minute a.m. increments) until Monday, and I have deadlines and a headache, and I'm sitting here in the dark with a dying phone battery, having played all the games and read all the words and bought all the things, and all I know is, if he doesn't fall asleep in the next 30 minutes, one if us is getting a dose of Benadryl and the other can play with duplo in the dark.