The irony of motherhood.

We long for five minutes of peace and quiet. We daydream about what it would be like to go to the bathroom without an audience. We go one more day using dry shampoo because the baby woke up early and the morning didn’t go as planned.

We push ourselves to the bottom of the list in order to keep the rest of our household surviving. We go through the day counting down the minutes until bedtime. We are exhausted to the very core of our bones.

And then it happens.

We get the minutes of peace that we’ve have been praying for. We get those precious minutes that we have only been dreaming about. We are so elated that we can't even decide how to use our time. Should we clean? Read a book? Take a nap? The options are endless.

And then we see that little reminder. The lone toy left behind by the toddler. The reminder that the stillness of the house will someday soon be permanent. That there will no longer be children to erase the fresh vacuum lines. That the floors will remain clean, the windows will lack fingerprints, and the shouts to stop running through the house will cease.

I know that we curse mom guilt, and I know that it is vital that we have alone time and are able to refill our cups as wives and mothers. I know that we have to take care of ourselves as mothers.

But sometimes, that guilt and reminder, is what I need to bring me back to my peace. Sometimes it's that little tug that reminds me how fast these days are fleeting, and draws me back into thankfulness. Sometimes it's the saving grace that humbles me to my core and reminds me the truth that I am my children's world. Sometimes I am thankful for the reminder.

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