There are mornings when I wake up, change from my pajamas directly into sweats, throw on some mascara for…who??…and fix my daughter her breakfast. And watch morning cartoons. And struggle to get my obstinate toddler to get dressed or get out the door or do anything. It makes me long for heels and dress pants and adult interaction and intelligent conversation.

And I think to myself, this is my life??

There are days when it seems all I do is manage resistance. And navigate tantrums. And try not to lose my mind during the endless, repetitive games my daughter creates. And nurse on demand, still. And find my way through those hours in the afternoon when she should be napping, and the ones that follow where she’s cranky as hell. I remember the good job I left when she was born, and the meaningful work I was doing. And the paycheck we’re most certainly missing.

And I think to myself, this is my life??

There is many a Friday and Saturday night when I sit home, with nothing better to do but catch up on my DVR’d shows and friends’ Facebook statuses, still in those sweats. And find myself jealous of the friends that are out for drinks, or dancing, or a leisurely meal not spent wrangling a kid in her high chair and keeping food off the floor.

And I think to myself, this is my life??

Then there are the days when I’m reminded that without the long days home with my daughter I wouldn’t have the freedom to do a job I love in the evenings. The days when my girl impresses me with the way she sweetly interacts with other kids and adults. When she asks for “more kisses” and “more snuggles.” When I watch her blossom and grow into a smart little girl. When her silly giggles overwhelm my heart with so much love and joy I can hardly breathe.

And I think to myself, this is my life!