This week, we time traveled.
It started with a bedtime audio recording I found on my phone from two and a half years ago. I pressed play and suddenly we were somewhere else entirely. My voice, a little younger and exhausted, spinning a made-up story in the dark. My oldest, little and earnest, asking question after question. And then, in the middle of it, the baby waking up and crying.
We all went quiet listening to it.
My kids leaned in, curious. Is that me talking? Is that me as a baby? They could not quite place themselves in it, even though it was only two and a half years ago. To them it felt like ancient history. To me it felt like yesterday and a lifetime ago at the same time.
In that recording, I was breastfeeding and sleeping in two to three hour increments. My husband was working in live events and coming home at midnight most nights. We were all sharing one bedroom, squeezed together, doing what you do when survival is the only mode available. And in the midst of that, I was making up bedtime stories.
Motherhood moves faster than any of us are prepared for. The hard seasons end before you notice they are ending. The things that feel too small to matter, the stories you tell in the dark, the way you show up even when the tank is empty, those are the things your children will carry. Not perfectly. Not without help. But with so much love it could fill a room.
Happy Mother's Day to every mother out there. You are the story your children will always want to replay.
With love,
Maria
Two reasons why everything is worth it.