Breathless - my motherhood essay

Motherhood is never having enough time. You never have enough time for yourself: to do those morning sit-ups, to match your clothes or to even have bought matching clothes in the first place, to fix your hair, to read any of the articles you want to read, to read the Sunday Times on Sunday.

It is official: you will now have to give up on those far-fetched life goals like writing a novel, riding your bicycle across America, living a life of meditation on some deserted mountaintop, because you may have thought you were busy before but now, really, you truly don't have the time.

The only moments when time slows down are those endless nights when you are trying to get your son to sleep, singing Ani DiFranco's 'Tis of Thee over and over, because that song has somehow become your go-to lullaby in times of deep distress. At times like those, time just about stops.

The most heartbreaking part? You don't have enough time for your son. You keep thinking you will get to this place where you can stop and take a breath and realize that everything, for the moment, is just perfect. But then you realize that moment already came and went. For just one second after he ran into the neighbors' yard and pulled out their pinwheel and, over his shoulder, gave you such a smile of accomplishment that you forgot about what a rush you were in. It came for 15 fat seconds when he woke up from his nap calm and talkative and let you run your fingers through his hair. It came for nearly a full minute, when he leaned his heavy head against your chest as you read him One Fish Two Fish. It flashed on and off when he climbed into bed with you and your husband and you took turns tickling him.

You were too busy to see these moments for what they were and now he is asleep and the day is gone and tomorrow, tomorrow will be something brand new. He might stop doing that ridiculous thing where he insists that you tell him and every item of clothing he is wearing to "come on," before he will walk down the street with you ("come on hat, come on pants, etc."). He might stop calling the color "orange" "juice." It could be weeks before you realize he stopped doing these things, and you will sit glassy eyed and wonder what else you might have missed.

Sometimes you will be lucky enough to realize you are living a perfect moment, right now, but it won't last long. You will want to freeze time and bottle it, the way you can capture his pudgy hand print with acrylic paint and paper and save it forever. But you can't. There is never enough time to take it all in. There is barely enough time to breathe.

*Cameron* *October 1, 2010* *490 words*