TIMBER

 They greet me at the door every single day with bright smiles and sticky fingers. One right after the other, tiny arms grab my legs and I sweep each of them up in my arms to kiss them gently on the cheek. Leah squeezes her legs tighter around my waist as Nolan slides down my side.

I blow a kiss to Brian who’s standing in the kitchen working on dinner and then race off to the bedroom with the children right behind me. They explode with giggles as we crash on top of my unmade bed. Nolan pulls himself on top of the yellow comforter and I grab Leah who’s anxious to join us.

I tickle each bare belly and they laugh and laugh and laugh. I watch the crinkle of their noses and the beautiful way the lamp light shines through their blonde hair. We take turns crashing into the covers and yelling “TIMBER!!!!” It’s so silly, yet so fun, well, for the four and under crowd.

I laid down for a second and sank deeper into the mattress with every bounce when a little hand grabbed me shirt and yanks it higher. Not long after I was met with a cold wet raspberry on my exposed stomach. I couldn’t help but laugh. A finger traced the now faint silver lines on my abdomen, forever imperfect marks left from pregnancy. Then again, a second wet raspberry higher other side from the other child. In an overdramatic show I wiggled around in the messy sheets and hugged my children tightly. And again the room filled with laughter.

My body isn’t perfect, but it made these two amazing people.

I am not perfect. I am not home enough, I lose my temper, I don’t cook or clean enough, and I can’t always be there to protect them. I am not always the mom I want to be. But to them, I am perfect.