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Sometimes I forget. Sometimes I forget how much she needs me. I forget that SHE made me a mom. I forget that baby face, those mispronounced words and that imagination. I forget that all my time belonged to her. I forget that before the second, there was the first. That before I needed her help (with the second) all I needed was her. I forget that the reason everything seems more natural with the second is because it all seemed so new with the first.

And then it happens out of nowhere. The other night as she was clinging to me and begging to cuddle with me, all I could think about was how tired I was. She hugged me tightly, and when her face pressed against mine I knew instantly she had fever. That’s when the motherhood kicks in and the exhaustion kicks out. The me who is barely functioning on three hours of sleep dissipates and supermom comes to the rescue.

I tell her, “I’m here for you.”

“I’ll take care of you.”


“You know that, right?”

She gives a pitiful nod.

“Good. Now, don’t you ever forget.”

But sometimes I forget. In the chaos. In the exhaustion. In the loudness of life, I forget that she needs me. And that I so desperately need her.

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