I am a Mommy.

I wipe noses and change diapers. {Sometimes I change three poops by 9:00am, like today.} I kiss boo-boos and pretend to laugh when they’ve done that silly thing for the millionth time, but I know they are just doing it over and over because they are right where they want to be, the center of my attention, and don’t want to lose it.

I do massive piles of laundry and karate chop my way through load after load of dishes. I mop floors only to see little sticky toes dance and trip by, leaving trails behind them. My TV and computer screen have jam-hand prints and left overs from kisses for Mickey Mouse, and I climb under the fort that sometimes functions as our dining room table at least three times a day to gather crumbs and scrub yogurt splats with a damp paper towel.

I read the same books over and over, and I could put certain puzzles together with my eyes closed. I listen to Disney Jr., Veggie Tales, and Annie playing in the background instead of the news or Real Housewives of Wherever. I live in pajamas. My hair is almost always in a greasy ponytail and I delay booking hair appointments because I’m afraid of what my hairdresser will say when I come traipsing in six months too late, split-ends all over and highlights grown out to my ears.

I am a Mommy. And this is all normal stuff for a Mommy.

Mrs. Darling says there are many types of bravery. There’s the bravery of thinking of others before one’s self. Now as mothers, we may have never brandished a sword nor fired a pistol, but we make many sacrifices for our family, and put away many dreams. Maybe you put them in a drawer like Mr. Darling; and sometimes, late at night, take them out and admire them. And though it gets harder and harder to close the drawer…we do. And that is why we are brave.

I am a Mommy. Warrior Mommy. I can make peanut butter sandwiches and stifle a dispute in mere seconds. Hear me roar!

With love, Malorie