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Dear Mothers of young babes, 

I hear you. 

I see you. I WAS you, 


A crying baby on the hip while a toddler carefully hides crayons in heat vents, up noses. 

Everyone is hungry, no one wants the food in front of them. 

Sticky faces, hands, feet, everything is sticky. I am sticky. 

Nap time for one, the other is ready to play. 

Vice versa. 

Bad dreams, 

fuzzy footed pajamas snuggled next to me in bed at night, stretched and sweaty across my body, 

I surrender my space, 

my self.

Days melt together, sandwiched in between too early wakeups and not early enough bedtime stories that have been read one thousand times. 

Trying to find a moment of quiet, hiding in the bathroom...chubby fingers wiggle their way under the door. 

Give mommy just a minute....

Minutes to hours to days,

a decade,


The house, quieter. 

They slip in and out at mealtime, 

everyone still hungry,

slightly sticky as well.

Be home before dark

remember your manners

take the garbage on your way out.

Give me just




Dear Mothers of young babes, 

hold on tight.

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