Mom Pov Full 〈Legit →〉

I pull into the school car line. The radio is playing pop music that I pretend to hate but secretly know every word to. My middle child is crying because he forgot his "show and tell." My oldest is sighing like a Victorian orphan because I asked him to carry his own backpack.

But I am also full .

My eyes snap open at 5:47 AM. Not because of a sound, but because of the absence of sound. When you become a mother, your brain rewires itself to detect danger in silence. If the toddler isn't crying, he is painting the wall with yogurt. If the teen isn't slamming the bathroom door, he has missed the bus. mom pov full

I begin cooking dinner. Cooking dinner with children is like trying to perform surgery in a mosh pit. They are under my feet. They are asking for snacks while I am chopping onions. The baby is pulling on my pant leg. The smoke alarm goes off because I forgot to open the window. I pull into the school car line

Do I go to the gym? No. Do I take a luxurious bath? No. But I am also full

My heart is so full that it hurts. When my daughter whispers "I love you, Mommy" in the dark. When my son draws a picture of me with stick arms that are way too long. When the baby runs to me for no reason other than to feel safe.

The "full" perspective here is the mental load. It is invisible. You cannot see it in a photo, but it weighs 400 pounds.