mother

I hate that I have to work. (Which is not to say that I hate work. Or that I hate my work.) I hate that it’s not a choice.

I hate that I cannot choose to be wholly with my children. That even when I am with them I may be thinking or worrying about work. (Or, more often than not, exhausted and ill-tempered because I had to stay up late the night before (or, nearly every night) working because the time when everyone else has gone to bed is the only time I am able to work.)

And, I know that I am lucky. In so very many ways. But, I just want to be with my children and relish in this short time we have together. They’re both growing up so fast. This past year—Inara’s first—has been such a blur. I wish I could do it all over again. (But, honestly, I don’t know how I would.)