Poor baby. She wakes up in the morning (be it 4 or 7 a.m…) cooing and crowing at the window, a giant grin spread across her little pink, cherubic face. Her feet are kicking, her arms are pumping, her heart is full of gladness and she turns to me with all of the richness of her angelic little being, eager to bask in the delight of the moment together, and who better to share it with then her mama, the center of her universe, the light of her life… and there I am, exhausted and disheveled, trying desperately to blink my eyes open while simultaneously trying to hold on to that last teeny bit of sleep.

Poor toddler. She is so full of energy and mischief. So curious about everything she sees. We are lying on the bed, looking up at the stars, finding faces in the clouds. We are making Rhodedendron Chocolate Tea and drinking Thai Food Soup and making up rhymes. She is laughing hysterically as she chatters away, swings her little arms from side to side, pounds anything with anything else. In her little mind, anything is possible, and she needs to try everything out at least once. Ok, twice. No, mama just one last time, one more time and then I will be done, OK?

And there I am, the same harried and exhausted mama I was the day before, pulling it together for the most part, but spending about a quarter of her lifetime fantasizing about sneaking off somewhere far, far away. Just for a minute. But desperately. And that sucks.

They deserve so much better. To wake up in the morning to someone who is not only delighted to see them, but who actually got enough sleep the night before to back that belief up. Someone who isn’t so spent before the day is over, someone who gets a chance to recharge at some point.

I am the one rocking and nursing the baby all night, the one taking care of both little ones all day, every day of their lives. So I’m not exactly a slacker. But babies are so amazing, so full of delight and wonder, and they are only on this earth for such a short time. Likewise toddlers.

We all say that the best place for young kids is with their moms. I believe that with all of my heart. It’s why I quit my job. It’s why I’m still here. I couldn’t be anywhere else.

But I sometimes feel guilty that it’s me they have to spend their days with when I know some 22-year-old nanny would arrive at our house full of energy and fun, with a bag full of exciting things to do. She would have eaten breakfast, would have showered, would be wearing something better than a pair of sweatpants creased and wrinkled from sitting in the dryer (OK, on the floor) for three weeks. She wouldn’t have to wolf down her breakfast with a kid in either arm, wouldn’t be parking the toddler in front of the T.V. so she could nurse the infant, wouldn’t have to make dinner every night while both kids melt down.

I know I am a good mom, and for the most part I am very happy doing this. I just know I could do it so much better if I wasn’t the only one doing it!