Mom of two – the good


I had a post written for today about being a mom of two.

It went on and on about how, in the beginning, everyone asks how it’s going and what’s it like now, being a mom of two. But who really knows what something is like after doing it for only a week or two or even three. And then it went on and on about how being a mom of two is hard and exhausting and plagued with guilt before, in typical me fashion, turning it all around to the positive.

And it’s true. Being a mom of two is hard. And it is exhausting. And I feel guiltier about the time that I don’t spend with my children now than I ever did before.

And maybe, someday, I’ll write the post. With a glass of wine in hand, at the end of a long day that will cap a longer week, the ‘it’s-so-hard’ post will flow. It does need to be written and I’ll be powerless to stop it.

But today, I’m not there.

Today, I balanced my baby on my hip as I guided my girl into school and I soaked up the oohs and ahhs and the “oh my goodness he is so cute!” and “he looks like your girl!” And I loved every minute.

Today I walked through the grocery store, pushing an infant in a stroller while a little girl in a fairy princess shirt skipped along next to me and I felt myself smiling a big goofy smile but I couldn’t stop it. It just felt so perfect.

Today I sat my children next to each other on the couch, trying to take our monthly photo so that someday, I’ll look back and watch them grow over and over and over and I caught the most precious moments between big sister and little brother.

And she was his strength as we took his bandaids off, the ones that covered the place where the 6 month injections went in today. And she moved her game of school clear across the room to involve him in her imagination. And when he was barely hanging on, struggling to stay awake as bedtime neared, it was her face that elicited his brilliant smile.

Being a mom of two is hard. Somedays it is so very hard.

But oh man is it simply too beautiful for words.


Pour your heart out.


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