I am more than the dishes mounting in my sink, remnants of dinner taking residence on plates.
I am more than the laundry piles waiting to be folded, a never ending mountain of cloth that I will attempt to tackle and never quite master.
I am more than the floors that need to be swept, the tile that needs to be mopped. I am more than the juice spills on the floor, the milk stains on the furniture.
I am more than the hovercraft buzzing overhead; ensuring their safety, patiently waiting to swoop in and devour them in hugs when they least expect it.
I am more than the messy ponytail I often find my hair in, and the sweatpants that seem to have become a permanent staple of the wardrobe I call motherhood.
I am more than the bags under my eyes, the exhaustion of parenthood painting my face like cheap dollar store makeup. I am more than the stain on my clothing, the unidentifiable mark of a long day.
I am more than the dog food scattered about the house, the dog determined to eat anywhere other than near his bowl.
I am more than the dinner prepared at the last minute, the meal that I was far too exhausted to make, but wanted to ensure you had after your long day at work.
I am more than the paycheck I bring home. I am more than the hours spent in the office, away from my children, wondering what milestones they are achieving as I miss out to ensure they have a better future.
I am more than the rushed kisses sprinkled on heads on the way out the door, to school, work, daycare. I am more than the short hours I spend with my children, in between dusk and dawn, holding those precious moments close to my heart, like unique seashells picked from the sands of their childhood.
I am more than this.
I am more than the stay at home mother. I am more than the working mother.
I am a woman, who needs to be loved.
And when I forget, will you please remind me?
I am more.